Corrupted Love
by periwinkleXprecision
Summary: He loved him. It was strange and unhealthy, yes... But it was its own form of love. A look at the Joker's past and his view of the great Batman. "What do you do when you don't technically exist?" B/J discontinued
1. Your Bullet Be Not By My Hand

_**Your Bullet Be Not By My Hand**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating: "**T" for now. :0 May become "M" if, in the next installment (with the Joker's childhood/growing-up) becomes far too disturbing.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. This is a SLASH story (boy/boy) please TURN BACK NOW if you do not desire to read anything of the sort.

**Ch. Summary: **The Joker loves to play with Batman. Even if it involves his own demise.

**Disclaimer: **SPOILERS FROM THE END OF THE DARK KNIGHT! I do not own Batman (the series/character), and all of the dialogue (other than the salty thing and the hello boys deal, haha) in this chapter is taken directly from the movie. Also, the views of the characters in this story mostly do not support my own. I am into sociology and studying the minds of others. : Lol.

**Suggested Listening:** "There is No Mathematics to Love or Loss" by Anberlin

**Notes:** It was a really weird moment when this came to me, hah. I was sitting in my chair, thinking about the basis for Heath's Joker. He just pops out of nowhere, no background story, and decides he's going to prove the dark heart of humanity. I loved the concept, but it also gave fans ( like me :) ) plenty of room for creativity. I'm usually not one for Batman slash, but exploring this pairing would prove to be very interesting. I love the comics, but I'm going to jump for "The Dark Knight" movieverse. :) Just because Heath Ledger was that hot. R.I.P. to an amazing actor that put us all in awe at his skill and finesse.

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Silence. It was as if the world had fallen beneath him, washing away the fears of those in the water beneath. Something was calling to him. He had not been so wary before, but that playful Bat's hand was a bit too free for his tastes. A simple flick of the wrist, and he knew that something unfortunate would occur on his behalf. He adjusted himself, straddling the Bat beneath him and pinning him beneath the bar, all movements restricted. There was no way out now.

Never in his life had he felt such excitement and freedom. The Batman had given him something new to live for. Something new to laugh at. The cool air furiously whipped at his paint-caked face, ripping away any beads of sweat that had planted themselves around his strong jaw line. There was something new and appealing in the air that night. It was some sort of new, liberating sensation that had never before slipped into his grasp. Everything looked, smelled, and felt different.

The dark eyes of the Bat beneath him flicked in frustration, flashing back and forth in an attempt to escape. No! He couldn't… The Joker wouldn't allow it. Not with how everything felt. Nothing in his life was more exciting than planning for Batman's arrival and seeing what Batman would do next. He wanted Batman to chase him and his plans forever! And he would make it happen. All for the sake of his new obsession.

Chaos and destruction… They were never fun unless there was someone there to challenge him. Otherwise, the blade he had against the throat of Gotham City would dull and crumble between his fingertips. And to think that he had once wanted to kill this man! What a mistake that would have been!

He was truly, "deeply" happy that the Batman wasn't Harvey Dent. That would have ruined all of the excitement! OH, how the plot thickened. The Bat was in love with the girl? And- BOOM! She was gone! Just like that pencil.

He didn't mind one bit. In fact, he LOVED the idea of, instead of chasing after damsels in distress, the Bat might play with him some more. Everybody would die someday… Just some sooner than others. Death was such an extraordinary sight. It always seemed to reveal a true person's character. There were few, true heroes in the world. Heroism was a true joke. Harvey Dent was proof enough (_OH, how the mighty have fallen! HAHAHA_). As long as it was a joke that the Bat would believe in order to have fun with him, the Joker was content.

Looking down at that head that the cold ground beneath them held, the Joker stared amusedly at the glistening skin around Batsy's mouth. Batsy… That's what he would call him. Shimmering sweat lay flat, hiding beneath the creases in his skin. The Joker leaned in, his senses blessed as he took in the sweet smell of the Bat's aroma. It was the smell of a true, hardworking man.

Who was he anyway? Joker wasn't even sure if he wanted to know. What if it ruined their fun!? Now, that would just be wrong… And dreadfully boring.

The scent tempted him further, pleading for continuous investigation. Joker curved his neck in, his pink tongue sliding sinfully out from behind his yellowed teeth. It glided slowly over the Bat's jaw, every taste and sensation absorbed. Batman cringed and grunted, his entire body stiffening at the sick joke. The Joker's saliva felt like acid on his skin, burning away every piece of dignity left within him.

"Ah… Salty," the Joker cooed, his observation suddenly overwhelmed by his own, cackling laughter. Still, the laughter could not ensue within the revelation the Joker had about those lips. The forbidden fruit that lay before him, sprawled out and seemingly hopeless. Closer… closer… He brushed his lips against the Bat's. They needed each other. Batman for the sake of _that line_ and knowing where it was. Joker for the sake of his life, what he had built it up to be. They needed each other for _purpose_. They were the freak show of Gotham, and nobody knew it better than Joker.

"Ya' know where I got these scars?" he mumbled, peering into the eyes of his adversary.

"No, but I know where you got these!"

_SHING!_

The Bats lifted his arm almost in rhythm with his words. Coal black blades flew onto him, throwing his nerves into complete shock. _'He-e-ere we are, Batsy!'_ his thoughts sang, basking in the pain.

_WHOOSH!_

The Joker felt his body thrust into the air, collapsing upon gravity like never before. Laughter corroded his being as it flung down the building's side, amused and excited by the possible death before him. The unpredictability of life was what made it so enthralling.

_FUMP!_

His being was yanked to a halt, carefully lifted inch by inch by none other than the Batman himself. That notorious grin flipped up upon his face as the blood painlessly flooded to his head. Grunts ensued. The wind battered his green head, pushing his body side to side. The boats down below were still unharmed. That was the thrill of Batman. Plans never seemed to work out.

"Oh… You. You just couldn't let me go, could you?" the Joker remarked, his teeth gritting ominously. "This is what happens when an unstoppable force… Meets an unmovable object. You TRULY are incorruptible, aren't you? Huh?" he muttered, his mind dancing between the unstoppable Batman and the destroyed Harvey Dent, "You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness." Batman was panting, tiredly listening in on the Clown Prince's rant.

"-And I won't kill you because you're just too much fun," he grinned, his voice calm and unshakable. Simply disturbing, as always. He let out a raspy cackle, his tongue creeping out and licking over his lips as it had a habit of doing. "I think you and I… are destined to do this forever," his tone drove into a more eerie place, striking a nerve with Batsy. Still, he had a deranged point (as always).

"You'll be in a padded cell forever," the caped crusader let out a gasp, words roughly toppling out, correcting the Joker's statement, assuring him that forever was never going to happen.

"Maybe we could share one," the clown countered, licking his cracked, ruby lips once more. He thought upon the citizens losing control as the death rate kicked up as much as crime, reassuring Batman that nothing was ever so easy, "They'll be doubling up the rate this city's inhabitants are losing their minds!"

"This city," the mouth beneath the cowl growled, "just showed you… that it's full of people ready to believe in good." His eyes seemed to grow darker, twisting with words of hope and justice.

"Until- their spirit breaks completely!" the clown reveled, pointing a finger justly as he swung upside down. "-Until they get a good look at the REAL Harvey Dent," the Joker bit cruelly, unraveling his hideous plan. That man was fun, sure, but he held no comparison to Batman. If Harvey died, things may be a little less interesting, but as long as the Bat was around, he was sure to get his share of smiles. "Hah. And ALL the 'heroic' things HE'S done. You didn't think I'd risk losing the battle for Gotham's SOUL in a fist fight with you? No… You need an Ace in the hole. Mine's H-harvey," the Joker proudly pointed to the Batman, quickly feeling woozy from having such a debate upside down.

"What did you do…?" Batman replied, Joker joyfully watching as the hero's tough demeanor fearfully fell from its crutch. This was too good.

The Joker continued to swing his arms around, hoping he would be able to continue facing the Batman in order to finish his speech. "I took Gotham's 'White Knight', and I... brought him down to our level. It wasn't hard. You see, madness, as you know, is like gravity," he grinned, thinking curiously upon the analogy he was about to give. "All it takes- is a little PUSH," he emphasized with his gloved hands, wheezing out laughter as best as his broken ribs would allow him.

Off went Batsy again. Must have left to kick someone else's ass. Presumably, it would be Harvey "Two Face" Dent. They'd have another day to play.

Groups of S.W.A.T. men clustered by his window spot, the Joker dangling in a fit of giggles at the sight of them. Where would they take him? Dumb bastards. A little creativity would take him a long way, no matter how tight security was.

"Hello, boys!" he teased, the pressure on his head making his vision increase in dilation. He knew they would chop him down and haul him off, just like any other robot before them. Anarchy was key in his life. He _was_ anarchy in a painted human body. Everyone's lives were a damn joke. No matter how hard they pleaded their worthless cases, they meant nothing.

'_Note to self:'_

Worthless. That would be the word of the day. People's lives can be tossed around- they're worthless. Trying to ignore Batman is like trying to ignore the earth blowing up into tiny, bite-sized pieces. It's worthless even if you try.

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_:D Yes, the Joker will have a little note-to-self moment at the end of every chapter. He's so freakin' creepy- it's really a great character to write, haha. I remember tensing up every time he appeared on screen as I sat in the theater. I'm going to travel to a dark place in the next chapter- my version of the origin of The Joker. It's going to be messed up, but hey- it's the Joker, lol. This chapter was simply introductory- shorter than the next. :) All right. Enough of my ranting! Read and review, please. :)_


	2. Heaven Doth Touch No Hell

_**Heaven Doth Touch No Hell**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating: **"M" for sure now. XD This one's pretty dark…

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. This is a SLASH story (boy/boy), so please TURN BACK NOW if you do not desire to read anything of the sort.

**Ch. Summary: **What do you do when you don't technically exist?

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. -tear- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "Missing" by Evanescence **OR **"Inevitable" by Anberlin

**Notes:** I never knew my mind could travel to such dark places. XD I loved the movie, and it certainly gave me inspiration to write this. DO NOT read this and then go, "She got the origin wrong! Read 'The Killing Joke', lady!!" because, in the movieverse, there was NO vat of acid 'n junk that the Joker fell into. He just wears paint. Also, the Joker did not actually say where he really got his scars. He made up two different stories, lol. –So don't tell me I'm wrong there either. This is just a fanfiction… Just remember, haha.

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There always seemed to be too much quiet in Arkham Asylum- the Joker's home for two weeks now. He knew how he could escape, but he wasn't sure how he wanted to. It had to catch Batsy's attention. He didn't want to make him tremble in his boots (_well.. that's a lie_). He just wanted Batman to chase him. Was it even humanly possible for the Bats to tremble? It would be fun to witness such.

"Argh!" The Joker stumbled into his room, his slick shoes curling beneath one another and giving way to the earth beneath him. Gravity slammed him to the floor, his face colliding with the cement and bruising like an apple.

"HAHAHAHA!" he cackled at the pain, agonizing bolts of cramps shooting through his forehead and down his spine. The prison guard merely rolled his thin, beady eyes and slammed the iron door. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, the clown saw him sweat (_No fooling my eyes, bubs_).

The room wreaked of old rags and cigar smoke. Did somebody decide to throw a drunken party in his cell or something? He'd have to look into that one later when he was far more bored and desperately needed something to entertain himself with.

Sighing, the Clown Prince slipped up to his feet, frowning bitterly as the pebbles scattered about the floor rubbed roughly against his painted face, scraping away strips of ivory. He hated it when that happened, and it seemed to be happening more than usual lately. It was very rare when he actually cared to remove it. He didn't like looking in the mirror and seeing someone else. It was someone that never, technically, existed.

The Joker… Now there was someone that people knew and feared. He was The Joker! That birth-less little boy that existed so long ago was nothing more to him.

The painted criminal sat himself down on his bed, licking his lips furiously. He never really meant to be so twitchy. In fact, he never really realized it or stopped to consider that he may have odd tendencies such as the lip-licking and smacking. There was FAR more to focus on.

-Like that woman outside, holding out a toy for that small boy. It was a bright purple bear with a green ribbon tied around its neck. The Joker's head eased to the side, tilting in his examination of the scene. "It's… you," he managed under his dark, raspy breath, fire rising and casting ash upon his throat. Damn those hallucinations. They crept up on him far too much for comfort.

"Here you go, darling," the woman smiled down at her son, her thin lips trembling in fear at the possibilities. "Just don't leave it out for father," she silently cursed her husband, holding him accountable for her anxiety. The boy took the bear, his nervous twitches ensuing as a great, wide smile of approval marked his features. He was the age of five, and he had just received his first gift that did not consist of hand-me-downs.

Without a word, the child rushed into his room, placing the teddy snugly under his small bed, just large enough to fit his frail form. He escaped the dimly lit room, returning briskly into the family room that almost appeared an orange color with the strange illumination. He placed himself in a small nook between the television wardrobe and the plaster wall, or as his father would call it, his "consideration corner." No one seemed too sure as to why young Jack always crept there, but they believed it to be a matter of thought.

"I'm home," came the strong and intimidating voice of Larz, or as Jack should call him- "father." Mrs. Napier grinned awkwardly at her spouse, dipping her spoon into their supper for a simple taste-test.

"You know that's my job, dear," he commanded her with an iron grip, only loosening it in order to allow her to drop the metal utensil. He was always number one. Jack hated it.

The ghastly blue eyes of Mr. Napier wandered from his pale wife's chocolate orbs to his son's matching globes. There he was, twitching and fidgeting in his corner once again.

Young Jack struggled to answer to his father's grumbling stares that almost seemed to call out, shouting for a thing or two. "Hi-" the boy's voice managed almost soundlessly, air consuming what could have been words. At one point, it may have even created a possible sentence.

Mr. Napier's eyes almost ate him up, growling at the boy and threatening his eternal destitution. Not much could be said in the stead of poor, little Jack, seeing as his mother never even so much as burped an interjection.

"What have I said, time and time again?" Mr. Napier drew out his words, purposely drawing fear from his own child, flesh and blood, with every step. "A child is to be seen- not heard. Now… was it just my WILD imagination… or did you just address me?" he growled, his voice curling out like a dragon's tongue to eat.

_His father was never a drunk._

Jack shook his head vigorously, praying that none of his father's familial rules would be further broken that day. The creaks in the floor boards harped for help, only to fall on deaf ears. Larz smoothed his impeccably slim mustache as he stepped away from the child. It was television hour now. For him, that was. Jack was not allowed to watch any television. It would drain his brains out (or so the strict disciplinarian known as "daddy" would cause him to believe).

"Off to bed now, sweet heart," the misses instructed her child in a rushed fashion, the room collapsing on the two of them with blue-hued flashes from the tube. It was still daylight, but Jack simply gripped his hair painfully, bottling up those spiteful words of frustration as usual. His mother smacked his little hands away, praying that the head of the household had not witnessed the boy's actions.

She sealed the door behind them. A simple click bode them well for conversation, cueing Mrs. Napier, "Jack… how would you feel if we registered you for school?" The boy seemed to stare at her agelessly, curious as to how she desired to pull that one off.

You see, Jack Napier doesn't exist. –At least not to the government. When little Jack was conceived, his father was on the run from a crime. Larz Napier is in the mafia. What he did, Jack may never know. However, his father (somehow/some way) was able to disappear from the eyes of the police. In order to remain away from speculation, when his wife gave birth, they had a hired midwife take care of it. There was no record of birth. The midwife was killed.

Although the short woman before him called him "Jack," it wasn't really his name. Nobodies don't have names. It was more like… an alias. It wasn't hard for Jack to figure this out. He was smart. No- he was a genius.

"-But how?" he asked in a lowly voice. The eager hum of the air conditioner only heightened his worries.

"You don't worry now, Jack. You need a proper education," his mother brushed off his question like dust, allowing the remaining particles to settle where they may. Her soft, petal-like fingers pulled back his hair, revealing those sweet, candy-like eyes beneath. With a warming kiss and hug, she sent her son to bed in the bittersweet darkness.

………………..

………………..

"JACK," a cruel voice awoke him. "EXPLAIN THIS MESS," his father broke, ripping the teddy bear from beneath the little frame of the child that lay curled up on his bed. "Did you bother your mother for something else?? We aren't even supposed to have you, do you understand?" he barked, eyes in flames of greed, pleading his own safety over the sake of his son's happiness.

"Larz, please," Mrs. Napier pleaded, her soul battered black and blue at the sight of her son's tear-swelling eyes. Still, within it all, his expression was blank.

"How else is there to teach a stubborn boy, Dianna?" Larz grit bitterly, frustrated and tired.

Then it was, that all at once, the wife saw something break in her husband's eyes, snapping furiously like a twig balancing between two fingers. Without any words, the tall male lifted the boy by the curls on his head, swinging his small form towards the door.

Dianna could feel herself become faint, pressing away the fear of what he could be doing to her precious baby. She watched her son squeal and squirm, his small body flailing left and right. He flung his arms wildly, grasping desperately onto his father's arm for support.

It was then that something strange occurred. Mrs. Napier froze. She wasn't sure whether to be disturbed or relieved. A horrid shrill of laughter escaped her child's mouth. Sometimes, when faced with danger, some just… laugh. Whether this young man was truly terrified or enjoyed the pain, none could truly know.

"SHUT IT!" Larz roared, tossing the boy to the cream colored counter like it was nothing. He felt his rump bruise badly, rubbing the spot. Still, he could not stop his giggling fit. For some reason, it appeared to overtake him.

Grabbing a dicing knife, Larz could hear his son's chuckles behind him that only seemed to shriek to higher pitches at the sight of the knife. "RAGH- SHUT UP!!" he roared, throwing his arm at the boy's mouth carelessly.

The knife ripped away the layers of skin on the boy's left cheek, his muscle tissue singing through to light like the strings of a guitar. Blood spilt out, tainting the poor child's chin and cheek. For a moment, it felt like he couldn't move his face, now halfly rotten with crimson blood and bits of clear, torn skin.

Finally- the laughter came to an end.

++

The natural ho-hum it was, waking up so early. He lay alone in bed, his thick tongue peeling out between his lips and licking over the always irritated skin that lay clumped and eternally swollen on the left side of his mouth, giving him the appearance as if he were always giving a horridly wide side-smirk.

_He never married._

"Time for school," his mother wheezed, coughing and sputtering as she pulled long strands of ash-blonde hair back into her lopsided bun. She turned to her youthful son, studying his handsome features as he strode begrudgingly onto the white kitchen tile. What a dashing boy he was, but she feared that no one would ever see it behind that hideous scar.

"'Morning…" he sighed. His buttered eyes danced from one breakfast bar to the next. "I don't think I'm hungry," Jack sighed, rubbing his strong arms achingly. It must have been yet another uncomfortable night judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Neither am I," his father grimly retorted, eyeing the lumpy skin about the left of his son's mouth.

"Larz," Dianna grimly bit back. Her dark eyes beat Larz down to size, only to leave the shell of him. He rolled his own back at her, unimpressed.

"I'm out," Jack muttered emptily, storming past his father and out the door. Words could not describe the hatred he felt towards that man. He was smarter than him, and he knew it, regardless of the mockery his dear ol' dad decided to make of him. Bastard…

The vast, seemingly endless campus was already swarmed with fashionable pricks. The large pathways of concrete pavements and gummed trash spoke of its own students' self-centered inspiration.

Each class passed like any other. The teacher would drawl on about whatever the hell the curriculum pleased, and someone would occasionally poke him or shoot a spit ball at the back of his head. Those morons put the responsibility on him to answer ALL of the teacher's questions anyway. Not like he enjoyed it… The established order of school was a failure anyway.

It had become a game to teenagers. Rather than an actual place to learn and study, it was a popularity contest- one that Jack was losing miserably in. It was all because of his scar and his twitchiness… and that green hair. He had dyed it when just entering the eternal nightmare known as "high school", seeing it as a symbol of freedom form his father's iron grip. Green and purple were his favorite colors. They were so dark yet so bright. They were contradictions amidst themselves… just like that teddy bear.

"Hey, Jack," sung a bright and lovely voice, drawing the odd yet well-built teen's attention towards her. He smiled.

"Alicia," he spoke upon the name warmly, welcoming her over. He studied the beautiful girl's dark amber hair that lay on her shoulders thickly. "Any signs of the brat pack?" he quirked a brow, sarcastically referring to her so-called friends.

"Shut up!" she giggled in return, her heart-shaped mouth carving out a precious smile of its own. Even she knew the revolting behavior that sat pretty in the middle of her group. One person had to obey another.

He smirked back at her, patting the luscious grass in which he sat, pleading for her to take a seat. She happily took the offer. Jack had always been an interesting fellow in her eyes. He gave the greatest of debates and was incredibly intellectual, even with that monstrous scar. He was stunning.

They began to talk about the usual- the government, the school, her choice in friends. Jack was just as clever as always, making snide remarks with the perfect amount of narcissism. Every word caught her by a thick string.

"Alicia? Are you serious!?"

Laughter struck out before him, his broken eyes realizing what had just transpired. There they were- every jackass accounted for. Alicia's little Australian "friend" Lucas had just called out to them, harping on about their current situation.

"Excuse me, short stuff, but we're trying to have a big kid conversation here," Jack shot back at Lucas. Such a reply was destined for a good kick in the ass.

Lucas growled bitterly, clutching his fingers in anger. He leapt to the girl that sat beside the object of his hissy-fit, yanking her lanky form away from the other male. Alicia stood frightened. She was still struggling to maintain a balance with her footing.

"Why don't you give 'im a good smooch then, aye?" the Aussie boy spat. His face almost seemed to grin without his lips even moving. Wheels were turning up there. Wheels that Jack would prefer to watch keel over and die.

Lucas crept up behind the girl, holding her by the shoulders and pushing her forward forcefully. Before he could do anything, Jack felt himself also lurch forward, shoved by another one of those high school clique goons. Step by step, He felt himself approach her under the relentless summer heat, starving his throat for water. Was it the heat… or was it the fearful face of Alicia as their bodies grew closer and closer.

They were mere inches away from impact, and-

"EW! FREAK!" Alicia's voice cried out, a hint of sobs bubbling on her tongue.

The surrounding area fell silent. Well, to Jack it did. If he had open ears, he would have heard an eruption of cruel laughter. For a moment, she looked utterly disgusted and violated. They hadn't even touched. –And he thought she was beyond that…

It was inevitable that she would suddenly become overrun with "remorse", apologies fluttering from her mouth like butterflies on that silken voice. He tried to say something, anything, but not even her name would come out. He was appalled.

"Jack- I- Please- Uh," she stumbled, each word so bent up in the nervous shakes.

He felt his body stiffen, his finger tingling with the strange new sensation. Why in the hell did he have to put up with this? It was constant abuse from people who either pretended to care, or by those who didn't even try. Well, well, well… It was about time someone learned their lesson.

The rage consumed him, numbing his mind of those stupid inhibitions. One by one, his arms shot out on either side, socking two boys in their colorless faces. "Lucas," he hissed darkly, a sudden grin befalling his eerie mouth, "I would like to show you a magic trick."

Watching his comrades fall flat on their crooked backs, Lucas quickly shook up, his jaw locking up. There was no use in excusing himself from the scene. He wanted to move his gaze from that demented face so terribly, he could almost feel his gut turning itself inside out. Still, he found it unmoving and merely nodded.

Leading the pack, Jack took everyone over to the lunch tables. The smell of melted tar steamed the air, perfecting the tarnished scene of the chipped paint on the tables, wood splintering uneasily on the royal blue tarp above.

"I'm going to make THIS," he said, a wild look contorting his eyes as he stuck a black pen into one of the tables by its point, "disappear." Jack had practiced this trick on one of his chameleons at home, something that had proven itself incredibly hard on creatures of smaller sizes. Lucas would be the perfect test subject.

"Come 'ere," Jack motioned to older boy, beckoning him over. Lucas took a few steps forward-

_SLAM!_

Jack had gripped Lucas by the back of his greasy head, shoving his head forward into the pen. The black plastic impaled into his forehead, pressuring past his skull and shattering the bones all around. Blood squirted out onto the table messily (_if only it rained like that around here_), the pen now a seemingly permanent part of the boy as his entire being slipped to the grimy ground.

All of his life he had pushed away the temptations to kill, but it was about time he had convinced himself out of it. It's not like it was never in Jack. He had just feared what his father would say- but it dawned on him. Dead men tell no tales…

As for Alicia- that cruel wench that decided it was okay to giggle and toy with boys.

He clutched her elbow, screams curling out from her plump mouth. All else abandoned her. Now she understood, eh? Nobody has a _real_ good heart. They were too busy caring about their own hides. That's what the cinema was for.

She struggled, attempting to peel his fingers away from her arm. Where had this behavior come from? Sure, he often had a twisted sense of humor, but she never expected this. Then again, she had only started talking to him about two months ago. There were many layers to a person.

He had surprising strength. No matter what she tried, Alicia could do nothing. She could only watch what he would do next.

"Here we are," he licked his lips, curving over the mangled and lifeless body of Lucas Baks. Here was a perfectly good pen. Why would he waste it? He tried to be cautious, but there wasn't a whole lot to keep in tact. Instead, he settled for ripping out the plastic stick, skin peeling outward and spitting out gobs of awkward blood. Wrinkles of his pinkish brain could be seen through the thin hole in his head. Alicia immediately felt puke rising in her throat. This was so sick and demented.

"Sh, sh, sh… Don't cry. You're making a fool of yourself," the scarred male said to the girl. He was making a mockery of her, just as everyone else had to him. The pen was all wet now (_looks more red than black to me_), but what could he do? Beggars can't be choosers.

Jack's mouth puckered out, whispering sweetly some strange words…

"Breathe in."

"Wh-what??"

With an immense pressure, like nothing she had ever felt before, the pen seared into her throat, chipping an incredibly small piece of bone from her spine. Jack felt the obstruction in the pen's path, only to shove harder and harder until it pierced through the other side.

Alicia's hair drooped from her head, and she fell limp, falling atop Lucas like a rag doll. Jack would have to rush home now, seeing as the ruckus he had just caused...

And, with a quick look back at the girl that had once been so disgusted, Jack hummed, "You've never been so beautiful."

'_Note to self:'_

Don't forget an extra gallon of gasoline for fireworks. You never know what might happen…

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_Oh, boy. XP That was a tough one to get through. Traveling through someone's dementia can be quite disturbing, yes. XD Lol. The next one's back to the present, yessiree. :3 Jack's not COMPLETELY psychotic. XD I mean, he's got an ounce of sanity that allows him to define right and wrong. You'll see how it works out in future chapters. Sorry for the horrid imagery in this one, haha. I sincerely hope you don't have nightmares on my behalf. XP The story will get much deeper and focus less on violence. Still, I am going to have to reach the story about how he got the other scar (eventually). I think I'll finally get a good, solid story going next chapter for the pairing. :_

_By the way, in case you didn't catch it, the whole "his dad was never a drunk" and stuff of the like is just showing what he lied about in the movie._


	3. Thy Love Is Thy Knife

_**Thy Love is Thy Knife**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for obvious reasons.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so navigate away if it ain't your thing!

**Ch. Summary: **_How could a fistfight be romantic?_

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –sadness- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. The company that owns mustang cars DO NOT support this story, haha. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "Paralyzed" by The Used

**Notes:** I think the song I chose for this chapter is a pretty good Joker song. I know that I'm going to use more songs from The Used. Finally, Batman and Joker begin a little chase. The explanation of how he got his other scar is kind of interesting, and it comes up in the next chapter. The follow-up story to that is here, though. Read and review! :) Thanks to those who gave both criticism and praise. Reviews truly keep this story alive.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

'_Oh, my. Look at them run!'_

The man clothed in green and purple watched the other inmates scramble and shriek. '_There are my squealers,'_ The Joker humored himself, listening to grown men become helpless little tarts.

As soon as that same cell guard had entered, beckoning his presence for supper (seeing as he so desired to escape at night for the sake of Batsy) he was ready to put his plan in motion. Just letting that big, beefy man turn his back was enough. With a simple swing of his arms, the Joker's straight jacket was around the other's neck. The thick sleeves yanked his throat back, casting him into confusion.

"Bill, eh?" he whispered darkly, his eyes flickering in mischief as he read the tag on the guard's shirt. "Tell me… do you have friends, Bill?" the clown asked, dripping with false hopes of sympathy.

This "Bill" character was frozen for a moment, stricken in shock by what in the name of hell this _creature_ could be up to now. "Get off me, FREAK, before I toss you sky high," the man attempted this statement as boldly as he could, only to fail with a trembling voice smothered in whimpers.

There was that "f" word again. He HATED that word. What a poor choice of speech on this soon-to-be-victim's lips. "You know, you really shouldn't have said that," The Joker smirked, his frightening expression coating any hints of his frustration and bitter contempt. Ah, and what a perfect moment this would be for story time.

"You want to know how I got my scars? Hm?" he passed onto Bill's ear, nibbling on his own lips briefly to mute his mouth's irritation for just a moment. "You see, I used to love dining out with my friends- as I'm guessing you do," he smirked, peering down at the guard's round belly. "Then, one day, my friend tells me that I'm being a bit of a pig, and he doesn't like this in front of his girl- not at all," he stopped, seeming to almost consider the words that he spoke. "Anyway, I didn't surround myself with all-too-wonderful people, you see. My friend could get a little _violent_. I decide to stand up to him, tell him to snuff it. He doesn't take this too well. He decides that he's going to teach me a little lesson. He grabs for the butter knife and tries to stab the piece of turkey I've got in my mouth. Unfortunately, I think the better and try to move my head out of the way. This doesn't fair too well for me-"

"What are you going to do?" Bill suddenly cut him off at the gruesome part and tensed, quitting whatever struggle (_or lack thereof_) he had been enduring for the past three minutes. He could hear fabric ripping behind him, the perfect cackle succeeding it in rhythm. It was then that something… poked him.

"What is that!?" Bill shrieked (_ooh! Another squealer_). His green eyes rapidly blinking like windshield wipers- back and forth, back and forth (_… and a crier?_).

The Joker leaned further onto the man's arched back, fleshy mouth agape in glee. "Well, you won't have to concern yourself with that any more!" he chuckled, voice hitching as the blade cut its way across the tall man's shoulders, making a sort of crescent shape around his sweaty and freckled neck.

The blood almost refused to draw at first, disappointing the criminal who had been waiting for something to trickle past the other man's broken muscle. The villain's chin tightened, dimpled in anticipation. Finally, a crimson droplet made a nice, long line down his back, easing The Joker back into a more pleased stance. It was funny. The crescent appeared as a smile would, grinning back at him from behind. Bill gave his last scream.

And so it was that he was now standing in the foyer, watching Arkham inmates and guards alike attempt to flee for safety. How funny. They already seemed to know he had planted a bomb! Well, that was no good. He needed the element of surprise. At least their panic refused to cease.

"How'd he get a knife in here!?" one of the bystanders screeched, tugged fiercely on another's sleeve. The other simply stared, entranced in dismay by the unthinkable. Fire burst out on either wall, wood chips suddenly sprawled out upon the floor, figures dress in white and blue throwing themselves forward and away from the blast. A gaseous substance smoked the air, and unstoppable laughter erupted all throughout. A bomb with… laughing gas?

The man with the painted face examined the visuals in slow motion, the licking flames creating text for him to read in bliss. They spelled pain, misery, and revenge. It was everything that sat in the core of Gotham, something that he had to prove to its citizens and Batman.

The Joker stepped outside into the chilling night air, humming something that sounded like it had been pulled straight out of "The Sound of Music." He felt warm under that purple coat, passing empty streets with a bounce in his step. Without little ol' Gordon to signal for the man in black, it may be harder to grasp the coveted attention of the Bat.

_SWOOSH!_

-Or not. The Batman swept upon a street lamp, his looming shadow sweeping upon his nemesis whom stood erect. The Joker tilted his head coyly to the side, licking his constantly sore lips numbly. He could feel the surrounding buildings closing in on him, the glossy windows nearing in on his personal space. Before he knew it, his muscles began to involuntarily contract. Oh, that delicious blood rush that such a presence gave him.

"Did I disturb your dreams, Batsy?" asked the Joker, only sending wishes upon hopeless thoughts that he may have even been in them, haunting the other with nightmares of plague and death.

The Bats angled his strong body away for a moment, obviously perturbed by the new nickname. Still, the flinch was rarely visible (_stiff… as always_), seeing as he never let an eye catch him off guard. Especially not his rivals. Right now, Joker was top-notch priority. This pleased the villain.

He was as silent as the night around him- again. The Joker broke through the empty air, speaking with proud annunciation, "Well? You here to take me back, dearest?" The Bat began to spread his wings, situating himself for another attack.

"You're done, Joker," he spoke in his usual, raspy voice, his nemesis's body jolting with pure ecstasy at the sound.

"Then- you're going to have to catch me!" The Joker laughed in a high falsetto, dancing away from the scene in utter glee. He could hear the Bat behind him- the sound of his wings catching air descanting of the other's demise.

His feet were sore and swelling, but the Joker paid no mind to it. What was happening now was worth far more important than a simple foot cramp. Too bad it began to travel up his leg. Did this mean the end of their chase?

Just as the Batman's legs extended out from beneath him, preparing to land on the cracked cement, someone reached out and grabbed his bulky leg. His eyes bulged, surprised by what he never saw coming.

"-And there she blows!" guffawed the Joker, thrusting his playmate in the other direction. He twittered at his success, watching the "smashing" performance as the Bat collided with the earth.

The Dark Knight stood, rather nonchalant about what had just occurred. The Joker could never, ever break him. He wouldn't allow it. He removed himself from the dusty spot, approaching the Joker at great speeds. His feet swept upon the rocks on the road, creating a sort of hypnotic pattern.

Batsy hadn't supposed that such an escape attempt went without any sort of plan now, had he? "You better be a damn good shot!" the Joker called out above himself, appearing to speak to an invisible force.

Batman looked up to view what spectacle he was missing. A masked clown stood amidst a shorter building top, aiming down from the store and into his eye. Nothing was ever that simple. He wouldn't allow it.

Doing a clean roll to the side, the caped crusader managed to evade what appeared to be some sort of purple dart, allowing it to crash onto a mustang's car door with a "_ping!_". It ricocheted out in the other direction and was swept up by a fierce wind.

The Bat took no time to watch it fail, but rather continued to dodge other ones that came his way at surprising speeds. He had to catch the Joker, but the villain was quickly making his way off into an alley as his rival was distracted. There was something about that madman, other than his distorted heart, that begged to be kept alive. Whatever it was, the Batman had yet to tap into it.

Even with all of his sins, The Joker still seemed to be such a sad creature, regardless of all smiles involved. Would he be better off dead? Even if it were truth, Batman would not be the one to have his murder on his conscious. One question… How in the hell did these seemingly impossible plans keep working?

++

Groans and complaints roared throughout the house. Jack wasn't sure whether or not to step inside the fighting fest of calm yet outraged voices. It was pivotal that no one knew of his presence yet. He had to be assured that no one at the school had taken their so-called liberty to call either mother darling or father dearest.

_CREAK!_

That damn door. Why? It was usually so nice and quiet, but of all times-

"Jack? Honey, is that you?" softly motioned the voice of his mother, holding no sadness or remorse. It _seemed_ safe enough.

"Hm?" the teen mumbled, waltzing in as if he had never even been hiding. The stagnant air hung above their heads, a stillness taking over. The TV flashed pictures of murder, romance, and comedy, all soundless in the messages that they held.

At the center of all discussion in the living room stood a fourth family member. Stephen Mercelli was Dianna Napier's near and dear brother, regardless of how desperately Larz desired for him to become nothing more than estranged. Stephen was easy going, something that Larz never was. He believed in freedom of mind and body while Larz wanted nothing more than order and discipline. Jack successfully slipped a thick, blue pack of matches back into his pocket surreptitiously. He liked Stephen a great deal, so he would have to wait for his uncle to leave to in order to let the fun begin.

"Hey. What's going on?" Jack twitched, eyeing the three adults in suspicion.

Stephen watched Larz and Dianna, coming to a quick realization that they were putting the responsibility on him to answer. "I wanted to know if you wanted to see the circus tonight! We're performing in town, and I know that your parents don't like you traveling too far," he smiled, whipping out a single, orange ticket for his favorite nephew.

Such an offer was something that was destined to happen sooner or later. Stephen had a rather simple role in that very circus. He was the comic relief. The crowd loved it when he came out. He always did something daring that put everyone on their feet. Of course, the children were never too thrilled. They always saw his attire and makeup as a little frightening… Frightening. Jack loved to watch something most would consider frightening.

Jack loved the circus. It made fun and toyed with the realities that everyone already knew and abided by. People moved in remarkable ways about the stage, contorting the audience's view about the thin line between possible and impossible. The animals were all right, but what really caught his attention were the people. They painted their faces in the most alluring ways, fake frowns and smiles hiding whatever they were truly feeling. They created their own masquerade, masking whatever was going on in their thoughts to create an element of surprise… Surprise. He loved surprises.

Jack grinned, relieved that he was finally allowed to do something he enjoyed. "Why, thank you," he praised his uncle, reaching a strong arm out to accept the gracious gift.

"Stop right there, young man!"

Of course, Larz always had to make things difficult. He drew his bushy and grayed eyebrows forward, creating a vertical crease just above the bridge of his bulbous nose. "Do you even understand how many people will be there? We don't need that kind of attention!" he roared, slamming a hefty fist onto the coffee table, which already held its share of cracks and dents.

Stephen sighed, obviously wearisome from an argument that must have been going on for hours upon hours. He smoothed his chestnut hair to the side, just about on the verge of giving up. "If you can convince him, Jackie boy, I'll see you tonight. I'm out," he sounded exasperated as he grabbed for the rusting door knob, using his meager strength to try and slam it. He was never one for shielding his emotions. Noises were the cues he sent around for all to understand.

The room was then immersed in tension. Few spoke at first, and not even a quiet whistle from the wind was there to break the heat Jack felt in his stomach, growing like some kind of tumor. There was a deadly virus inside of him. He knew it. –But it wasn't something that could harm him. It was an intent that would strangle all in his path until the life had been sucked clean from them.

Dianna chose to slaughter the awkward situation with her spatula, raising it with her voice, "Larz, just let the boy go." There was never a moment when her tired voice showed any hints of coming alive.

Larz turned to the couple of them, studying their thoughts with his eyes. They were both holding sarcastic remarks under their tongues and fires in the back of their eyelids while holding onto whatever grudges he had allowed to be bestowed upon himself. A mutiny in his own household was something he would never let swallow.

"Did I stutter?" he released the words angrily, desperately keeping a reign over his fury. Never again would he allow that little knife trick become a lesson in obedience. He knew that he had once crossed the line, but sometimes, violence was the only reasonable response.

Jack, however, would not hear it. A stutter or not, he would do what he wanted. For once. "Daddy, you don't want to mess with me today," he grumbled, showing off his new found confidence. As long as his knife never failed, he didn't have to worry about his father's anymore.

Larz hated it when people attempted to undermine him. What was worse was when it was his son. He wanted to rip off that odd smile that, for some reason, always found its way onto his son's mouth whenever danger arrived. There was a path that Jack always seemed to follow in these situations, but today was going to be just slightly different.

"You want to ride that by me again?" said the elder man, stepping forward and reaching for something in his pocket.

Questions, questions, QUESTIONS! Why was he asking all of these questions!? Jack could not stand how, every day, his father would attack his interjections with some sort of rhetorical question that bore an obvious answer. Damn the obvious. He was tired of answering questions. One more snap, and his strings would be loose.

"What if I went ahead and taught you some respect, boy?" his father bled out another cursed question, one that Jack refused to comply with. Discipline was part of his past. Anarchy was the latest trend. –In Jack's dark world, that is.

Jack could practically hear the final strand of inhibition snap, arguing its case to plead guilty for every sin he was about to commit. All acts would be against his father today. Today, he was going to the circus.

Just as Larz touched whatever object of Satan he had hidden away in that abyss he had for a pocket, Jack decided his moment to strike was just about to leave him- along with whatever appendage his father was secretly planning to sever. Now, now, with the brain Jackie had, no one could sneak something like that past him. A genius always found something to counteract another's motives.

Jack swiftly threw his body around, fetching the spatula from his mother's hand. She saw the defensive position he was beginning to take, and terror shook her small body. What was he ever going to do to Larz? As twisted as he was, she still felt love for him. That was why she had never left him. That and the fact that had she left, Larz probably would have sent some nameless thug after her.

"You always INSISTED that we let you taste first, father," Jack chuckled, dabbing a callused finger on the utensil that happened to be washed over in meat sauce. Larz froze at the sight, refraining from whipping out whatever he had in store for the boy.

Bits of beef dropped, hitting the floor like miniature meteors (_MEAT-E-ORS. Get it? HAHAHA- oh. Bad joke… hmm…_). The saucy deposits created by the droppings reminded him of blood. He couldn't help but love the sight of it, even if it was his own.

"Well, then, TASTE IT!"

Like nothing Larz or Dianna had ever witnessed in their lives, Jack came at the alpha male full throttle and ready to rid himself of what had caused him most of his pain. Now, Larz had thought he had seen it all until this point. Men had been shot, sliced, diced, broken, beaten, lashed, poisoned, dropped, beheaded, and buried alive in his presence, but it was never anything quite like this.

Jack practically tossed himself onto his father, straddling his arms with his jean-covered legs. With nowhere else to move, Larz, although struggling for the sake of his own breath, fell to his failure on the carpeted flooring. Jack wasted no time shoving the spatula, meat sauce and all, down his father's throat.

Sloshes gurgled from Larz's throat in all the wrong places. His eyes were bulging, begging to relieve themselves of the duty of having to sit inside of his wretched body as he slowly slipped away from consciousness. His body shuddered and shook beneath his son's weight, praying for an opportunity to free itself. Jack would allow no such thing. He would be making the decisions from now on.

Larz was dead. -And in an ironic twist of fate, it was by his own rules too. Jack was a clever devil. "I hope you enjoyed your last meal," the boy released the handle of the spatula, letting it stick straight out of his father's throat, lacking any ounce of respect he had for him to even bother to pull it out.

"You- you… Why!?" Dianna dropped beside her husband just as her son lifted himself from the ashes of his own doing ablaze. Her lips compressed into a thin line, disregarding any wrong her husband had once inflicted.

"Mom, we have to get out of the house," Jack put emptily. He took a slow and careful step towards the woman crawling on the floor towards his father.

Dianna only moved closer to her husband, taking his distorted head into her hands and petting it as if he were some sort of fragile innocent. Larz was far from innocent. No one was innocent. "I can't…" she whimpered, looking about herself, thinking heavily upon what anything in her life was building up to. She felt useless.

"Unless you want to burn down with this place, I suggest-"

"JUST GO!" she barked, cradling her deceased husband on her lap. The minor outburst was shortly followed by continued weeping. There was no, real breaking point with Dianna. She only seemed to frown and cry. She would never shout, scream, kick, or fight back. What was she doing? Was his mother's sin purely her apathy? He wanted so badly to save her as he watched her toil in her own, inner battle with tears staining her face. The streaks left behind seemed so red- so permanent. Her scars were finally breaking through to face the world around her. It was a world that had showed her no sympathy or remorse, so she refused to play with it any longer. She was beyond him now, falling into a dark place that he could never follow. She longed to be gone, desiring to take a plunge that he knew he could not yet take.

"Fine," Jack's voice crackled. He didn't know how to turn away from her. His mother had been the only source of safety and love in his life, and he wasn't sure how to repay that. Did he give her what she wanted? Should he let her die?

With a steady turn of the heel, Jack was now facing away from her. All it took were a few more steps out of the door. He knew he would do it. No matter what kind of love he had for his mother, even she had darkness in her heart. Her life was also expendable. She was no different from the rest, and her time to pass was going to come no matter what.

Each step felt like a mile. His mind was already outside, lighting a single match to make it all go away, but his body had a hard time keeping up. It was like he was stuck between the future and the present, already knowing what was going to happen but still unsure of when.

He couldn't take the hesitation any longer. The house was going to hell. Jack was outside now. The dusk seemed to be representing the end of this part in his life. No more hesitation. No more mother. No more father.

All it took was a flick of the wrist, and his mother's cries were drowned out by the roar of the fire that consumed the former lovers. It wasn't poetry. It wasn't Romeo and Juliet. It was reality.

Wrath be his sin, and his sin no one would escape.

'_Note to self:'_

All is for not. Don't hold back now.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_Well… no solid romance story yet, but that's okay! It's coming! Haha. I just hope you all understand that it takes time if I want it to be believable. :) The next chapter I'll introduce a new female adversary for The Joker._

_Now, instead of alienating the readers, which of Batman's love interests would you like to stir things up? I have two in mind, but I think what you guys want is important. I may wind up using multiple women to increase our favorite villain's frustration, haha. He doesn't like Batsy chasing anyone else. :) On the last note, does anyone know a good, racy song that's a bit darker rather than being all pop and bubblegum? XD I need it for cough future chapters. :P Seeing as, I highly doubt anything by Britney Spears is going to suit Batman. XD Lol. I was thinking about MAYBE using "Disturbia" by Rihanna, but I don't know… 'Cuz it's Rihanna, hah. No matter what she does, her voice always sounds poppy. XP No offense to her, but you know. Still, the lyrics are pretty dang good for some Batman on Joker action, hahaha. I just don't have a lot of choices right now, since I practically never listen to that kind of music… Help? XD_


	4. Where He Speaketh, There Be Death

_**Where He Speaketh, There Be Death**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" currently for violence. May also later include sexual content unsuitable for those of younger ages (I usually go really light on sexual stuff, so we'll see).

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so go away if ye' no likey! Lol.

**Ch. Summary: **A smile to remember you with. The Joker and his uncle.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –whimper- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "The Bird and the Worm" by The Used

**Notes:** GREAT JOKER SONG by they way. Especially with the version with the creepy laugh at the end, haha. :) Chapter four is usually my breaking point with most stories, so please keep reviewing! Thanks so much to those that already have. You've been a huge help to me with both your criticism and praise. I love this story, and so far, my passion hasn't died out, so I have hope! :) I understand that the spacing has been kind of funny with my stories, but, no matter what I do, my computer is just kind of jacked up, haha. Let me know if the spacing issue throws you off, and I'll work hard to fix it. :) Also, thanks for all of the song ideas! I'm totally going to be using them in future chapters –And so, we enter the story of how he got his second scar, and the pursuit continues. What, exactly, is the Joker planning? Wait and see.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

It was an empty Gotham that night. Where was the noise? Where were the people? Well, well, well, now. If the people would not take it upon themselves to shred the dark to pieces, he would happily gobble up the responsibility. Who is this _he_ you ask? _He_, mind you, is the one currently fleeing from an overgrown Bat.

_He _was the new icon for what most would refer to as "evil." This _evil _was now the poster child for what younglings now considered to be creeping and crawling beneath their beds at night. 

Unfortunately for them, this _monster_ was real, and it had jaws to bite (_good, strong jaws, thank you_).

This Bat was now gallanting off of rooftops, the fear he struck upon most only striking joy in the heart of The Clown Prince. He loved the repugnant. He embraced the vile. It was his nature. Growing up as a scarred child (_literally_) immediately stuck him as detestable in the public's eye. The Joker was unwanted. Batman also felt the repulse of the people. Heroes always fell sooner or later. Whether it be by an untimely death or by a sudden loss of moral value, they would drop like flies. He was here to speed up that process.

There was nothing wrong with the two of them in the clown's eyes. It was the "normal" people whom had conformed to society that were wrong. Had the latest trend been cutting up their faces, and had it been viewed as acceptable by the government, no one would hesitate in picking up a good razor or knife.

The world would watch them both from an arm's length, pleading that they disappear sooner than later. It was not just the Joker they asked to be taken in. It was the Joker and his creator.

++

Sirens blared, glowing lights of red and blue following in toe. Something was horribly wrong. Jack felt it in his gut. A massive knot tied around itself, increasing in size with every millisecond. Hell seemed to almost reach closer and closer for earth. It was playing with everyone's minds, tickling the world's soil amidst its palm.

A heavy umbrage damaged the once light-hearted feel of the red and white striped tents. Men in officers' uniforms and suits with ties met the current situation with scowls and down-cast faces. A few shook their heads in grief, unable to make anything of the happening- whatever this _happening_ was.

"Back up, son," a portly man in navy instructed the teen, using his sausage-like fingers for support. There were plenty from the police force using their badges, their symbols of authority, to push away angry customers whom had been promised a show.

"Excuse me, but my UNCLE is in there," Jack grunted back. Sadism ate away at the back of his mouth, tempted go all out on this man who was keeping him apart from what he wanted to do.

The man in uniform took a hard swallow, his Adam's apple taking a swift, long drop. "What's the name of your uncle?" he inquired. The boy took the question as a sort of relaxed beginning to an interrogation. Jack hated questions.

"Stephen. –And buddy, trust me when I say that's all you need to know," he twitched, licking his scar manically. Jack wasn't in the best mood. He already had a million things running through his head that he could do to this guy. Still, there were a lot of people around. –A lot of people meaning a lot of officers with guns. Then again, he could just grab that badge, stick it to his throat and-

"Stephen, you say?" the cop tilted his head to the side. He was obviously struggling to keep his composure. Just as Jack had feared, something was wrong with his uncle. He could sense it.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident," the officer sighed, taking a huge breath to relieve the irritation he felt in having to be the one to tell the boy what had happened. "Earlier this evening, he was supposed to be practicing his routine, but somebody found him hung by the tight rope. We still have no idea how it happened."

Jack knew. Even in death, his father was still haunting him. Larz had always wanted to make an example of Stephen, but until now, his brother-in-law hadn't been bothering the family. All it would take was a little reappearing act, and the bastard would send someone after the beloved uncle. Jack wasn't sure how long ago it was that his father had ordered such, but the timing couldn't have been worse.

So here he stood now, in that hotel room, staring down the man inside of him. Someone was hiding in there, but he just wanted to know who. It was someone who immediately caught the attention of people as he entered the room, someone who could instill fear in the fearless.

A smile. A clown's smile. His uncle's smile. Damn it all. Even his uncle had to become just another victim to the big machine that was murder. Murder should be something so much more. It should go beyond money and the mafia. It was an _art_- one that he would perfect. A cold, hard machine would not suffice. It had to be something to savor.

Jack examined his face in the mirror. He saw his nearly button-like nose, his strong jaw, his soft brown eyes, firm mouth, and… that scar. It hung deviously above his chin like a mocking smirk. Something inside of him was pleading to come out, but he didn't know how to respond.

-That was it. The scar. His uncle. A smile. Clowns were meant to make people smile, but they usually only wound up bringing atrocious shrieks and gasps from the mouths of children. Unlike the audience, they could mask their anger and despair with that smile. Those red, painted smiles. His uncle used that smile. That smile…

Smile…

… Smile….

…. Smile…..

"SMILE!" he roared at the mirror, his lips trapped in a bitter scowl. He grasped his pocket knife, ready to put on a permanent mask. He continued to growl, silenced whimpers scratching at the top of his throat, pleading for escape. The small knife was pressed to his right cheek. It was time to smile.

The knife costively dug into his skin as he applied pressure. Trickles of blood escaped, releasing themselves like breaths of fresh air. The muscle tissue beneath ached, taking good sighs of relief at the touch of bittersweet air-conditioning. The longer he pulled the knife along, the more his groans turned into something completely new. Laughter.

Finally, with the grin complete, Jack emitted praise at his work. There he stood, crimson flowing from his mouth like water from a river. It was art. He could laugh, just like he always had. It was the perfect smile, and there it would always be… smiling… _smiling_…

++

Everything was dark. Cold enraptured him, swallowing him whole. He wasn't entirely sure of what had just transpired, but his head was killing him. It was sore just around his mouth. Had a dart hit him? He was trying to catch the Joker-

The Joker. Where was that psychotic son of a bitch? He peeled his eyelids open, the rotten, musty wind about him created by vents that sat just above his head, blowing bits of anger and frustration into his bones.

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear- his signature smile and all.

A creepish grin overtook the villain's features, greeting the Bat with that less-than-pleasing face. His eyes were spread wide awake in the darkness, welcoming his rival to consciousness. "Good morning, darling," he teased. The Joker's face was mere inches away from Batman's, boosting the hero's vexation. He could see every, little grimy detail on the clown's face- every fold in his scars and every twinkle in his eyes.

The Dark Knight glimpsed downward. It was hard to soak in all of the details so suddenly through the swarthy space, but he caught enough to understand his predicament. Chains bound his arms and feet to an iron chair. This very chair happened to be bolted into the cemented flooring. How did he allow himself to get into this situation?

The Joker stood up straight, taking one step forward- then another. His body took the Bats unawares, standing over the hero's lap like it was nothing. He dropped himself onto the other, staring him straight in the face from his place on his lap. No response was received from the Batman other than a stone-cold countenance. A conflict, indeed.

The Joker frowned, staring deeply into his playmate's eyes. "No greeting? Ya' know, a simple 'hello' would have sufficed," he lamented. How could he get a bat to talk? "If you won't start blabbing yer'self, I can make you talk," he basked in the mirth, his mouth curling into a devious smile.

"You wouldn't kill me, Joker," Batman maundered back, his crisp voice rolling out like fire. There was never a more pleasing sound to the clown. Well, then again, there was always the sound of explosives, buildings crumbling, dying screams, fearful gasps… In fact, there were a lot of noises in the world that brought a smile to his face. This happened to be one of them.

"Of course not!" he simpered, then sliding off of the other's lap contentedly, "-But that doesn't mean I won't beat you to a bloody pulp." The Joker paced about the room for a moment, humming a strange tune as he subconsciously fidgeted with every object in the room. He, apparently, wasn't one to enjoy sitting still for too long.

Batman's nemesis and his tinkering was beginning to irk him. Why was he being so indirect? He obviously wanted something.

"Cut the crap. What do you want?"

The villain abruptly stopped, studying the dark, grimy room with precision. "What do I want?" he emphasized every word. The Joker almost seemed to be asking himself that same question mockingly, sighing at his own, evasive nature.

He turned back towards his rival. With the few features he saw, he could still drink in the Batman's ardent lips and chin. They looked so deliciously solid. The Clown Prince's mouth dropped open, pausing for a moment before he spoke, "I want _you_, Batsy. I want you to tell me EVERYTHING there is to know about you. Favorite color, hm? I presume… black."

"Why are you doing this, Joker?" the crusader's eyes tensed, narrowing down on the smaller man before him.

"It's much more fun than stalking you for all the nitty-gritty details, if you ask me," the clown smirked. "I'd rather get…" he spoke, his voice growing colder and crueler as every step he took closer to his foe struck the ground beneath, "… _personal_."

Batman breathed inwardly, biting his tongue at what he knew the other man was attempting to use as an outlet for fear. "You don't need to know anything," his voice crawled out darkly, snapping off at the Joker.

The green-haired man growled. What would he do if this difficult, flying rodent refused to comply with what he wanted? He would GET what he wanted. Force it out, if he had to. "Well, you want to play hard to get?" he roared, storming over to an iron door that separated them both from the outside world. "I can play that game!"

And with that hissy fit, the demented clown was gone, iron clamoring against the wall, venting his frustration.

Batman knew something terrible was about to happen, and this would be his one chance for escape. His piquant eyes darted from one thing to the next. At the top of the wall to his left was a smeared window. Nothing could be seen out of it other than blurs of what may have been lurking outside. It was currently sealed shut, but if he could get out of his chair, somehow, he could break out unknown.

A sharp, ear-piercing noise struck his eardrums painfully. The sound of nails on a chalkboard filled the small room. The Batman cringed irritated. '_What the hell-!?'_ he thought, gazing about the room.

_SHLUNK!_

An unfamiliar face peeked inside the room, its black head hanging in from the window. He saw what looked like bat ears atop the shadow. '_Not another imitator_,' he grumbled to himself.

"You wait there, handsome," the voice purred. It was a woman?

A long, slender arm cloaked in messily stitched black material snuck in from the hole that it had carved, unlocking a hook on the window. Her hand had what appeared like claws. It wasn't a bat costume, but a... cat?

The window swung open, and the long, thin figure slipped into the room with ease. She pranced into the faded lighting, revealing herself to the Batman. Her costume was messily pieced together, but it almost seemed to give it an effect all its own. She stood up on what looked like stilettos, but this only confused Bruce. She couldn't _actually_ be trying to maneuver around in those things, right?

Wrong.

She slyly curved around the metal chair, licking her cherry red lips devilishly. He could hear the jingling of the chains behind him. "What are you doing?" he protested, leaning out of her work for a moment.

"If you want to live, you'll shut it," she bit in return. Her crystal blue eyes fell back to the chains, and she roughly managed to pull them up and over the Bat's head.

Batman didn't take too kindly to her words, but he valued her help anyway. Bruce Wayne could appreciate an attractive figure like that, but Batman was all business. Still, he couldn't get over the fact that he had just inspired the people of city of Gotham to dress up like "freaks" and run rampant. How many vigilantes had he unleashed unto their world?

The Catwoman erected herself from her crouching position and leapt out towards the window. Her small hands were able to cling to the frame and pull herself up carefully. She was obviously still getting used to the suit, seeing as her claws prevented her from grasping the edge for a moment, but she was definitely skilled in the art of agility.

"You can save your thanks for next time," she spoke. Her voice was like as slick as cream, but it still had a darkness to it. Batman had to be wary of these new characters.

As soon as she disappeared, he was quick to follow. The Dark Knight wasn't going to let her get away that easily. She seemed to be doing right from what he had just witnessed, but things were never as they first appeared…

………………..

………………..

The clown walked in with a bounce in his step, grinning with that odd face like a hyena. He grasped a smaller, rusted, and red chainsaw in his hands readily. He was currently revving it up, distracted from the empty chair.

_VROOM!_

_VROOM!_

_VROOOooo-_

The noise calmed as the Joker removed his large hand from the string. He examined he room- the open window, the Bat-less chains, and the sudden breeze (_hm… That's actually quite nice_). A realization hit him, and the clown lowered the object of destruction, shrugging at the strange sight. What the hell just happened?

"Aw, c'mon!! I was only going to loosen a few fingers and toes… I promise!"

'_Note to self:'_

Love. Ah, love. 'Tis always corruptible in the hands of us, weepy humans. It can be bought, twisted, and scared away. Who am I to plea for different? HAHAHAHA… Wait. That's not funny.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_Oh, the revelations of our dear Joker. :) -insert pre-school teacher voice here- Sometimes jokes hurt. Lol. Cracking through the Joker is pretty much going to take forever, so hey! That's why this is going to be a long story! Haha. I've just made a small crease in him right now. :) He found something he can't laugh at. That's a start, right? Of course, he's always going to be a little insane, which is going to drive Batman NUTS, even after they- ((coughs)) you'll see!_

_Don't hate me for using Catwoman! XP It's not like she's going to actually win Batman, anyway. More ladies to come!_

_Also, I've already started working on a chapter that is going to be VERY important, seeing as I've never written anything like it before. It's going to take a while for me to get through, so it's better to start now. By the way, did anyone notice the reference to "A Clockwork Orange" with the chair scene? Hahaha. Honestly, I don't like A Clockwork Orange (GAH! Don't hate me! There just wasn't enough of solid plot), but pieces of Heath's Joker do remind me of Alex (since he did use Alex as reference, hah)._


	5. Thou Seeketh Hatred in Thy Claws

_**Thou Seeketh Hatred in Thy Claws**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so turn around if you gag at the idea!

**Ch. Summary: **Hate can manifest itself in many forms. For the Joker and Catwoman, it's no different.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –despair- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "I Dare You" by Shinedown (Thank you, Pichu172B! :D Awesome song!)

**Notes:** I have to let you all know- I LOVE FANART! Haha. Just throwing that out there if any of you feel inspired. :) I really hope that doesn't pressure any of you, though, haha. Only do it if you want to. Sooo- a rivalry begins between The Joker and Catwoman, and Bruce Wayne meets Selina Kyle. An insight into the moment Jack was first introduced to The Batman. :D Enjoy!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

Jack strolled down the street, disappointed with the so-called "excitement" he had been hearing about in Gotham. Everyone had been talking about all of the commotion down here, but all he found was a bunch of poor hobos and mob bosses. That wasn't _real _excitement. He sighed, heavily considering just moving back to the rural fields where he could easily start fires and do things of the like. Then again, he had been raised in such small towns that, whenever something wild occurred, everybody already KNEW who had done it. Well, they knew it to be the nameless boy down the street. No one really even tried to stop him anyway. Where was the fun in that? There was no challenge!

The gum he was chewing was losing its flavor- just like everything else. Even with these so-called desperate people, he heard no screams or bones cracking. Even if there were any broken bodies lying around, it was by the hands of the mob. They all did it for money. Idiots…

Jack pulled a red hood over his head. It was pretty dang cold outside, so he had opted to wear a brown coat over his blood red jacket. He breathed in. The sweet smell of ash and soot congested his senses. Smoke corroded his vision. At least part of this place was relaxing (_… when did I say I wanted that?_).

Something was forming in the distance. With each step he took, Jack could see the work of a master's hand behold itself down on the other side of the city's center. Some sort of tram transportation railway up in the sky was making itself visible.

It was destroyed.

A huge piece of the railway had been crushed to the ground, and no one seemed to be making a commotion. The mess was unmistakable. It must have been like that for at least two or three days then. What had happened? How could he have missed such an event? And… who had caused it?

Jack turned to his right, facing the local electronics store's nearest window. It was full of televisions, all of different quality and size. Some had more vibrant colors, and others were dulled to a dim gray. A few of the older models seemed to be fizzing out, generating a sort of buzzing noise. Jack rather enjoyed television. It was one of the many joys in life that his father had withheld from the boy. If he could get a hold of a camera, he knew he would enjoy filming something. If anything, it would probably wind up being one of his… _art_ pierces.

The televisions hummed for a moment, all simultaneously switching over to one of the news stations. A woman with big, honey-colored hair sat at a desk on the many screens, staring back at him from so many directions. She was already mid-speech when the station caught Jack's attention.

"-poisoning by the drugs' deadly combination caused this star's untimely death. Onto other news, citizens of Gotham city still find themselves awed by the strange occurrences. While some men and women claim that there is someone to blame, most pin this story as unexplained. Eyewitnesses say that the bridge's destruction was caused by none other than local outlaw and possible myth- _The Batman._"

"Bat… man?" the man in the coat breathed out.

The screen flashed over to a woman, her wide eyes expressing concern. "I don't want some maniac running around. Honestly! The authorities should be taking care of this," she spoke. Her large head turned towards the camera, bitter anger emptying those lips, "Do your DAMN job for once!"

Another man was shown on the street. He stood erect, his smug expressions speaking highly of his wealth. It was local billionaire Bruce Wayne. "How do we even know he's real? I mean, this whole thing could be several guys together. If not, this one guy is obviously a bit of a freak and needs to be taken care of," his smooth voice spoke haughtily, dismissing the camera as he stepped inside of a hotel at some, special event.

"_Freak?_" Jack repeated after the sequence. He was pretty sure he wouldn't like this _Wayne _brat.

The screen reverted back to the image of the middle-aged female news anchor. "Although much is still unknown, a young adolescent male was able to recover footage from his camera," she spoke, a clip playing at the foot of her words.

It was dark, and not a whole lot was visible. The shot was horribly amateur. The camera was shaking, and not much could be heard other than the cameraman's nervous breathing and distant sirens. Smoke permeated the shot that was aimed at the sky. A few shouts ensued, and something black stripped across the screen.

"Let's see that again," a male anchor's clean voice spoke. The clip was slowed down, and once again, the black figure was cutting its way across the screen. This time, it froze on the shadowy creature. The image was grainy, but one could make out the image of a giant bat.

Jack found himself staring hard at the image as the anchors' voices became nothing but dull murmurs in the back of his head. The image spat out onto the glass, sending a sort of odd reflection of the giant bat all over the wall. The scarred male felt his body pulled closer to the image, a shadow cast all across his figure. This… _bat_… had caused the bridge to fall?

Now, THERE was excitement. Jack felt his chilled body heat up, his large hand pressing carefully up against the glass wall. If this Batman was who all had feared, he would be the one to take him down. He would make a name for himself, and he would outwit this flying rodent.

Still, this man, whoever he was, had just given lil' ol' Jackie an idea. If this man could dress up, why couldn't _he_?

What would he be? Jack didn't want to dress up like some animal. That was so typical. It also lacked a certain _spice_. Life was a joke, so he should be able to play around a bit. A _joke…_ What about his uncle? Stephen had dawned the colors once upon a time, frightening the audience with that irksome makeup.

-But that wouldn't be enough. What would Jack call himself? _The Clown _(_please, you've ought to give me a bit more credit than that_)? No, it had to be something more. It had to embody who he was, especially if he was going to teach these people just how silly their system was. He was going to make a joke of it.

'_That's it!'_ he thought, an eerie grin spreading across his lips.

He finally had it. The red-hooded man spread out his arms, staring up into the sky. It was all coming to him now. A hideous cackle grew into a nightmare-ish shriek, inflating the air with demented merriment.

"_THE JOKER_!"

++

Alfred Pennyworth pulled away from his master and longtime friend Bruce Wayne. The swelling on Bruce's jaw had gone down. Other than a small piece of pinched skin, the younger man was all right.

The large room was quiet, and only one crow sat outside that morning, squawking unpleasantly at the two of them. "She got away, Alfred," he grunted, tilting the coffee cup he had in his hand. Moments ago, he was explaining to his faithful butler about the previous night's activities. That was their usual morning rituals- Alfred patching him up while he poured out excuses.

"I would suspect so, sir," the English man said, his thick accent unwavering, even after all of the years he had spent in the states. Bruce was glad it hadn't gone away. It aided to Alfred's character. "The papers haven't been the least bit shy in the matter either. The Times have been talking about a jewel heist. They call her 'The Catwoman,'" he handed the paper in his hand to the younger gentleman, stepping aside as he took it in hand.

"They don't seem to be mulling over these names much either," Bruce sighed, his voice dipped in sarcasm. "She doesn't seem to be a murderer, unlike the Joker," he studied the blurry picture of a cat-like figure dashing from a roof top.

"-What they used to call a selfish hero, sir, but in a different sense," the butler leaned a bit forward, facing the master that sat slumped in a giant, cushy chair. He pursed his lips, pulling out a vat of coffee and filling the other's cup to the brim, "They seek to serve themselves."

Bruce caught where Alfred was going with this. In the usual sense of a selfish hero, they did everything for the glory. All acts of good were used to glorify themselves. Sometimes, a selfish hero would even create a situation just so that they could fix it. This "Catwoman" was something else entirely. Although she could be considered a selfish hero, she did not mask her desires to bring glory to herself. Instead, she used the costume to bring her greater gain. Still, she didn't seem like the kind whom would kill innocents for her thievery. There was a line that Batman would never cross, but this new character had crossed it.

"We need to get some information on this Catwoman," Bruce spoke coldly, setting the paper down on the end table.

"Right away," Alfred agreed, taking great strides out of the room.

Bruce sat in his chair for a few moments, allowing everything to sink in. A year ago, he wasn't sure who he was or what he was becoming, and even now, he still wasn't sure. Although many had poked and prodded around at who was the man beneath the mask, Bruce knew that no one could really understand the truth of the matter. Bruce Wayne was the mask- not Batman. In a sense, he was lucky to be born into such a family. Bruce Wayne was the perfect cover for who he really was.

Some days he got completely lost in the being that was Batman. His speech, his posture, everything changed when he put on that armor. They were separate entities, but sometimes, as Bruce, he still felt the draw towards the mask. There was a part of him that still wanted to wear the cape when it was daylight.

There was just so much to do. He would never be done. At least not now- not with everything he had unleashed. Harvey Dent was supposed to change all of that, but even the strongest of them all had failed.

Rachel's death wasn't the first time Dent had seen the dark side of things, although his reaction would suggest otherwise. Bruce and Harvey were similar in this sense. When Harvey was in his teens, he came home to find his mother hung from the ceiling, and his father shot with a gun in his hand. No one knew how it could have happened, and the case soon went cold. Unlike Harvey, Bruce knew what happened to his own parents. This was something he could sympathize with the fallen hero over.

Maybe, after everything Harvey had worked for in his life, he felt like it wasn't worth it. If he continued to see people dying that he loved, he probably began to wonder why he even tried. He had gotten his life together, but something had to go wrong- as always. The Joker had proven his point. There was a murderer inside of everyone. All that mattered was who decided to pick up a gun.

Although Batman had allowed Ra's to die, he wouldn't let the same happen to the Joker. If he had let him die, the Joker would have proven his point. As much as the caped crusader wanted to see the Joker's mangled body on the pavement, he couldn't do it.

"Master Bruce," Alfred chimed in, breaking the young billionaire's train of thought. "You've got company," he said, stepping aside and allowing a pretty woman to enter. Alfred decided to leave the two in peace.

The young woman was wearing a simple blouse, a knee-length pleated skirt, and some tan stockings that appeared to be tearing in the foot area. She was attempting to hide it with her black heels, but Bruce always paid special attention to details.

She was an attractive girl, to be sure. Her long, black hair fell in tight curls all around her shoulders. Her sapphire blue eyes drew down to a long nose that fell just above her thick, rosebud lips. Why was she even here in the first place?

Bruce quirked a brow at the girl, still a bit confused. He was a billionaire. He should be used to people coming to his door. "And you are?" he asked, standing with a snide smirk on his handsome features. It was time to play Bruce Wayne again.

"Oh, sorry," she stuttered, her face quickly turning a light shade of pink. "Selina Kyle. I, uh, work for company known as Kedington and Co. They'd like to set up a meeting," she spoke, her speech clearing up with every word.

"You know… You could've called," Bruce took a meager step forward.

"Well, yes. We did," Selina began, "-But you weren't answering any of our calls."

"Sorry… busy night," he cleared his throat. "You could have called my CEO, Mr. Fox."

"He was also busy. He redirected us to you," she smiled, feeling a bit awkward in the situation. Still, she seemed to be easing into confidence rather quickly. Bruce was a bit bothered by the fact that his own secretary hadn't bothered to set up an appointment.

"Then I'm guessing you're the secretary," he smirked, regarding her attire and the clipboard she held in her hand.

"If I may correct you, I'm actually the personal assistant to the head of Kedington," she shot a smirk right back at him, adjusting her posture. "There's a difference." _Kind of._

"Well, Miss Kyle, I'm hosting a dinner party tomorrow night. You and your boss are welcome," Bruce Wayne approached the attractive woman, slipping her two off-white invitations wrapped in black bows.

Selina took the cards graciously, spinning on her heels to step away when something seemed to catch her attention. "Mr. Wayne," she said, turning her lovely head to face his, "I'm not so easily charmed."

And with that, Selina Kyle was gone.

++

Sitting on trashcan was pretty uncomfortable, but he was sure it would be worth it in the end. His hand was sitting in something thick and gooey. Then again, he wasn't too sure if he really wanted to look down at what that something was.

The Joker sat in an alley way between the hotel on his left and some vintage clothing shop to his right. Lucky for him, it wasn't a very busy day out. Getting a hold of some hobo (_that'd be one pretty DEAD hobo by now, HAHAHA_) and stealing his raggedy clothes was probably the easiest thing he had to do all day. There was a scarf to cover his face for the most part. No one ever stopped to smell the hobos anyway (_back to business!_).

Miss Kyle would be coming out right about… Now.

The twenty-something-year-old woman strut around the corner, huffing and puffing about some business junk underneath her breath.

"Hello, gorgeous. Alms for the poor?" the Joker tugged down his blue scarf just enough for his long, thick scars to be revealed.

Selina Kyle jumped at the sight of him. She would never get used to that face. No matter how many wanted posters, videos, or internet photographs she came across, he would always be some kind of boogey man to her. It wasn't just the children whom he gave the creeps, that was for sure.

"You- What do you-?" Selina took a moment to catch her breath. How did he track her here? Was he onto her?

The Joker leaned against the nearest wall, smacking his lips as he watched her panic. It was always amusing catching someone off guard. "Listen, cat lady. I know your dirty little secret," he pointed at her, making abrupt and fidgety movements all the while. "-BUT I won't tell anyone as long as you're willing to play by my rules," he concluded. There was no way in hell she was getting out of this.

Selina grimaced, crossing her arms. When did he have the right? Then again, it wasn't like he ever played by any _real_ rules. That son of a bitch… "What do you want?"

"Bruce Wayne, by popular report, isn't exactly in favor with people like _us_, per say. A guy with that much wealth and power is a bit of a- well- prick. And that little tango you got going on with Brucie- it's going to end. Whoever, tomorrow night, can get their hands on Bruce's dirtiest piece of laundry, gets the prize," he licked his swollen mouth. Apparently, he wasn't aware that Selina and Bruce had yet to get even remotely romantic.

"Prize?"

"That precious tinker toy of yours."

"Huh?"

"That… diamond thingie."

Selina's eyes widened. Was this one of his sick jokes? Last night, as Catwoman, she had managed to thief Gotham's most prized jewels. The diamond was practically the size of her neck, and she wouldn't risk losing it. Then again, if she didn't play along, she could risk losing her secret identity- her job- her life. "Why does this interest _you_ so suddenly?" she inquired.

"Well…" he thought for a second. Honestly, he didn't really want the jewel. He just wanted to watch Catwoman squirm and squeal. He wasn't really interested in killing her either… not just yet. "I have my reasons," he grinned coyly, slipping away from the wall.

Selina snatched her cream colored purse up into her manicured hand, whipping out a gloved claw and sticking it to the madman's throat, "Give me one _good_ reason I shouldn't do away with you right now."

"If you want a knife battle, I've got plenty," The Joker cackled, stepping away from her. She didn't have it in her anyway. He easily escaped her grip, disappearing into the shadowy alleyway.

Sure, tracking down Catwoman wasn't all too easy, but unlike Batman, the Joker had "allies" of sorts. Well, about thirteen at the moment (_to be exact_). With all of them spread around Gotham like peanut butter and jelly, it was easy to keep tabs on whoever he wanted.

Tomorrow night was going to be a blast.

'_Note to self:'_

It's been a while since I've been at a dinner ordeal. Well, as a guest at least. I wonder if little bats like to party?

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_As you all know, The Joker's plans are never quite what they seem at first… -evil laughter-_

_My whole perception of Batman was skewed for a while because I saw a couple episodes of the '60s version. XD Gah, I've got to see The Dark Knight again, lol. The '60s version was kind of entertaining, but….. Yeah. Not in the same way, haha._

_Hm… I'd really like a creepy picture of Jack in his hoodie with the scars, haha. XD Just hinting things –cough-. Lol. Anyway, I've got plenty of good songs now thanks to all of you. :D The songs I got are amazing, and I'm sure to use all of them._


	6. Tap Thy Champagne Glass to Mine

_**Tap Thy Champagne Glass to Mine**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so zip away it's not your idea of a good read!

**Ch. Summary: **Toast to a night in the Joker's hell.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –blubbering- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "There's a Good Reason These Tables are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Thought of it Yet" by Panic at the Disco **THEN** "The Mouse and the Model" by The Dresden Dolls (Thanks to MsMeow for an incredibly fun song to put to this scene! :3 Haha. I love it!)

**Notes:** Geeze. How's that for a song title? XD Hah… Pretty hilarious and perfect song for this chapter, though. Once you get to the part with just Jack and Bruce, listen to the next song. This was a fun one to write. I've been waiting to get to this one, haha. Catwoman and Joker's game begins… with a twist.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

'_Why are tying these things so damn impossible?_' The Joker silently grumbled to himself as he fashioned his tux comfortably. It was pretty rare when he actually took off his own tie. Saying such would mean that this, current tie was not his own (_well, it is now. I'm pretty sure lifeless over there doesn't need it_).

Two bodies lay hidden behind the bushes, unseen from any unsuspecting bystander in the dark. There happened to be two because, although the Joker had nabbed one guy, the suit was a bit too tight. Mr. "Reynolds" was two inches too short. Mr. "Havinoff", on the other hand, was just the right fit.

Although, when he was known as Jack Napier and lived in seclusion, the skies had seemed to always be speckled with bright little stars, Gotham held no glimmers of such. The city pollution was far from petty.

He was currently standing in a nice little area, away from all persons and arousing suspicion. It was just behind the hotel, where the party would be held. It was pretty simple to grab some guy and take his suit and invitation. Billionaires never really paid attention to all of their invites anyway.

He touched the fake skin flaps around his mouth a few more times, assuring himself that they wouldn't accidentally drop off during the evening's events. Just a quick glance at his scars, and the whole thing would go caput. The Clown Prince of Crime couldn't have such silly things blowing his cover.

Taking one, last, quick look at the car parked beside him, The Joker studied himself in the window's reflection. He looked just like one of _them_. He knew how to talk their talk and walk their walk, but conforming was never really his game. It was such a bore. He smirked proudly.

It was time to show the cat the doggie door.

++

Selina couldn't relax for a second. Her body was being eaten up by an overwhelming heat. Others in the room could have sworn that it was not a single degree past seventy six, but she felt differently. Not to mention the fact that a mass murder was in the room somewhere, disguised and watching her every move.

She had to get _something_ bad on the impeccable Bruce Wayne by the time the night was over, or else that diamond that she had worked for with every bone in her body would be out of her reach. '_It's not like I'll give it to that bastard, anyway,_' she thought to herself. Then again, she also didn't really want to consider what the painted psychopath had in store for her if she didn't comply. She wasn't stupid.

"Miss Kyle," called a voice with an English accent that could warm Antarctica.

Selina turned her pretty head of coal-black curls to find an always groomed Alfred returning her gaze. "Master Bruce is requesting a word with ya'," he motioned for her to maneuver around his champagne tray through the crowd of some of Gotham's richest faces. Honestly, the first time she had unnecessarily arrived at the Wayne Penthouse, she had only meant to scope out his goods. She never imagined getting dragged into something like this.

"Ah, Selina," Bruce lifted his crystal glass to the girl as she smiled sheepishly in recursion. "I was just speaking with your boss, Mr. Epinoch. This man has a good head on his shoulders, I tell you," he spoke, a self-righteous grin planted upon his hollow cheeks. The rotund Mr. Epinoch exploded in such a fit of giggles that someone could have mistaken him for Saint Nick. His cotton-like beard didn't aid to the matter either.

"Yes. I know. I've had the pleasure of working with him," she sighed, irritated by the billionaire's complacency. Mr. Epinoch was far more easily flattered. She continued, "As soon as we set up a meeting, I'll manage some prints for you to personally look over." She was often times flirtatious, but Selina couldn't afford to be doing this little dance all night. She had some investigating to do.

Bruce enjoyed girls who played hard to get. He understood that the typical models he dated were only to uphold a certain image- the image that was Bruce Wayne. It was rare when he found potential for a real relationship, and Selina had something. But… What did "something" entail? He wasn't going to be too shy in finding out.

"Um, uh… Excuse me!"

A fetching young man interrupted the small group's conversation. His voice was both gentle and determined. He was handsome with his dark hair neatly tucked to the side and his dark eyes, but there was something strange about him. As dashing as he was, just being around him was unsettling for Selina.

"Oh, my-" she choked on her words, the life eeking out of her body at the sight of him. It was the Joker (_try Trent Berscelli, sweetheart_).

"Are you all right, Selina?" Mr. Epinoch reached out a beefy arm, gently resting his hand on her back at the sight of her struggle.

Jack narrowed his eyes down at the girl, beaming at the power he held over the kitten, dangling it over her on a string of yarn. She wouldn't say a thing. Not with what he knew.

"I'm fine," she cleared her throat, resuming the conversation. "So, do you _mind_ introducing yourself to us, Mr.-?"

"Berscelli. Trent Berscelli, to be specific," he sneered back at her. Friction spat between the two.

Bruce was interested in this guy a bit more than Mr. Epinoch, to be truthfully honest. Coming across strangers at his party happened often, but at least strangers held mystery. "Well, Mr. Berscelli, is there something you wanted to speak with me about?" Bruce pursed his lips, his overbite affecting his speech.

"Oh, I just wanted to remind Miss Kyle here about the matter of business that we have together," he winked at her, a handsome side smirk perched upon his lips as her turned his back to the group and stepped away.

"Well, that was tactful," Bruce shrugged it off, his curiosity thus peeked. "Boyfriend?" his eyes darted back to Selina whom appeared to be looking far more uncomfortable than before.

"Not in a million years," she muttered. Her eyes almost seemed to grow darker as she focused in on the figure that was leaving her company. Snapping out of her rage, Selina turned back towards the congested party's host, "Pardon me. I have to use the ladies' room."

"Down the hall, immediate right," Bruce replied. Something funny was going on here…

As she rotated to face the other side of the room, Selina was finally able to take in the magnificence of the atmosphere. The bright lights were refreshing from the horrid florescent lighting in her small, single bedroom apartment. Beautiful paintings hung on every wall, each unique in its own way but still able to match the others. At least this was a man she didn't feel she would have to decorate for.

Selina was making her way through the room teeming with socialites when a tall, looming man of about six feet and four inches stopped her dead in her tracks. "Cigar?" he asked her in a deep throated, bellowing voice.

"Sure," she rolled her eyes surreptitiously, snatching up one of the thick cigars from the platter. That wasn't exactly the type of man someone would or should refuse- at least not with that threatening gleam in his eye. The red haired man lit it for her, passing away from her line of vision moments later.

She lifted her gloved hand to her mouth, and the cigar pressed up to her lips. The tip let off a soft, fuzzy sizzle as she let some smoke drift idly into her mouth. "Ugh-" she coughed. Sputtering, Selina gazed about the room for a place to put it out. She had forgotten how much she hated the aftertaste of a cigar.

An ashtray sat just a couple yards away from her on a glass table, so Selina settled on making a detour and ridding herself of the burden in her hand. She walked over to the coffee table, leaning over it to drop it inside.

"Enjoying yourself?" came Jack's voice, his body nudging her over a few inches.

"Back OFF," she growled, disturbed by the sight of him. "If you think I find your dumb little jokes funny, I don't," she said ferociously.

"Liar, liar… Pants on fire," Jack stepped away, speaking rhythmatically.

Selina looked down, watched her cigar hit the tray. The cigar caused the whole thing to burst into flames. Usually, the opposite was _supposed_ to happen, but with the Joker around, only God knew which way was up or down. The flames licked up, swirls of red and orange trailing down a thin line of gasoline to… her dress's skirt.

"Oh- OH! YOU BASTARD! AH!" she shrieked, eyes shooting like daggers in her direction. Selina stumbled backwards, the fire shooting up her dress within mere seconds. It was traveling up the knee, heat enveloping her legs.

Alfred pushed past the motionless, gasping people, tossing a fire blanket over her dress's skirt. Selina toppled backwards. She didn't land too gracefully and found herself sitting on the slick tile on her rump. "Holy hell," she managed to spit out, the room falling to a dead silent hush. This wasn't the kind of attention she enjoyed attracting.

"Take my hand," Bruce whispered down to her. The woman simply looked down at her skirt, examining the damage that had been done. The flames had eaten away at half of her skirt, messily leaving strands hanging down from the hem. She looked back up at Bruce, her cold eyes softening in her embarrassment. There wasn't a whole lot she could do other than just slip up a slender hand and take his offer.

Bruce guided her away from the center of everyone's regard. Lucky for her, all eyes were soon returned to those that they had been conversing with before the incident occurred. "Are you all right?" the entrepreneur leaned over to her, sitting her down near the drink bar. The tender sat a champagne glass in front of her, bubbles dribbling to the top one by one.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Selina mumbled while brushing her hair out of her face. She was clinging to her dignity at the moment, pleading that it would not flee from her grasp. Unfortunately for her, it was already beginning to seep through the cracks.

Her arm snuck out before her, taking the glass in her hand. "I wouldn't drink that," her male companion murmured in her ear.

"If it kills me, at least I'll be out of here," Selina spoke into the cup, taking heavy gulps. The glass was emptied. "Bruce, you're not as bad as you'd like me to think, are you?" she asked. Bruce hung on every word flowing from that silken voice.

"You'll have to decide that for yourself," the billionaire reciprocated her flirtatious tone.

"Bruce!"called out a friend, catching his attention and pulling it away from the beautiful, ivory-skinned female sitting beside him. He turned for a moment, acknowledging the blonde woman who was requesting his presence. Bruce simply waved a hand, asking for a moment more. The woman nodded in return.

"So-" he began again, twisting his back once more to view Selina. Her head had slammed into the bar table, knocking her out. Apparently, she had been poisoned (_shocker_). He immediately checked her pulse. Selina Kyle was still alive, and the drug had probably just been meant to knock her out.

He lifted her from the chair. She was incredibly light and easy to carry. Her figure dangled from his arms, and for a while, she almost seemed to be serenely asleep. It was a deceitful façade, but at least she was okay for the time being.

A few people had stopped to witness him truck her up the stairs, but there were far too many people grasping for each other's attention for a real scene to be created. He chose a room for the lady in his arms, and cautiously rested her down on a cream-colored bed. Alfred followed faithfully in toe.

"Look out for her," Bruce grimly put.

"Yes, sir," the butler stepped aside, allowing his master to get to the door and turn the knob. "I think it's about time you enjoyed a party," Alfred smiled.

Bruce turned to look at the older man. Alfred was never short of commentary. Bruce smiled back at him, his broad smile unveiling his pearly white teeth, "Me too, Alfred. Me too…"

++

The once noisy room had been numbed to the soft crescendo of the piano forte, and the gray haze that had been lulling over the black skies had passed some, allowing a few more stars to glisten through. Aside from a few drinking glasses, the room was spotless, and all of the guests had left… Well, almost.

Trent Berscelli leaned against the bar, his head resting awkwardly in the palms of his hands. He was thinking about something, obviously distant. Maybe it was time to get to know the mystery man that had happened to appear during all of the night's charades.

"Hey," Bruce casually greeted the other man whom appeared to be somewhere around his own age.

"Evening, cupcake," Jack slipped up, blinking at his own mistake.

"Pardon?" Bruce's eyes shifted down on Trent as he sat on a barstool.

"Uh, nothing. Happening party, eh?"

"It was okay."

"'Course. Should have expected that from the rich one."

Bruce chuckled, smiling over at the other male. He was always amused by those who chose to joke using cynicism over his wealth. It was far better than those who used fake smiles and attempted flattery. Honestly, he felt pretty relaxed around Trent. There was something the two shared in common- something that Bruce had yet to put his finger on.

Two champagne glasses sat in front of the shorter male, and Bruce felt less than obliged to take one, but he allowed himself to give in… for once. He drained it all in a few, swift swallows, watching as Trent took a quick swig from his own.

Jack curved his head to the side, cracks surprising the other with their volume. "So, tell me Brucie, you a charity man?" he spoke. The villain was still withholding his own voice with another's.

Bruce felt his head start to ache, and all of his senses turned numb. Trent's face was still pretty clear, but not a whole lot else was too visible. "Yup. In more ways than one," he tactlessly allowed himself to spill. Something must have been in that drink…

"Why? Why help a lost cause? I mean, none of them out there _really_ care. They abide the law by fear," Jack's face twisted in confusion, presenting his own logic. "Most citizens are scared of the consequences. A lot of these second rate criminals, you see, are just the ones with the balls."

"That may be true for some, but I'm willing to believe in the good of this world. Some people out there are willing to get thrashed out there for good. What's fearful about that?" Bruce massaged his temples. Really, what had been in that drink?

Jack chuckled, licking his lips and nudging Bruce's elbow with his own, "Aha, and that would be the point of Batman, now wouldn't it? To use fear to inspire good? Personally, I think he's made things plenty interesting around here. What's your problem with him, eh?"

"Honestly," Bruce laughed, mugging up at the other in the most well composed way a drunk could, "Nothing. I approve ninety five percent. In fact, I fund him."

Jack did a double take. Well, that was news to him. Good thing he'd knocked out lil' piece of eye candy Selina. Now, if Bruce Wayne was ruined, Batman would be ruined. Lucky Bruce. He would get to live.

"I'll just, uh… keep that one on the DL, 'kay captain?" Jack sat wide-eyed, twiddling his thumbs. This was all too strange. Bruce Wayne, the Bruce who was always crying over mama and dada and complaining about Batman, had been putting on a masquerade for Gotham all along (_it's so surprising yet surprisingly… not_). Then again, the Joker could use this information to toy with the Bat some more.

Bruce could feel the drunkenness messing with his mind. He felt all too comfortable saying everything and anything. With what little consciousness he had left, he promised himself to refuse to never reveal that he, Bruce Wayne, was the Batman.

"You have really nice eyes," Bruce breathed out, leaning over the right of the bar to Trent's face.

Jack eyed him, confused still (_yeesh! It's one thing after another with this guy_). "Eh?" was all he could manage, Bruce's breath on his lips sending tremors all up and down his spine.

The billionaire entrepreneur of Wayne Enterprises pressed into the other, his upper lip landing directly on top Trent's lower lip. Jack felt himself melt into the kiss, an eruption of strange sensations sprinkling all over his face, hands, and stomach. For a moment in time, he felt paralyzed. Not a single person or thing could move him from where he was- embracing a kiss that felt far more passionate to him than it probably ever would to Bruce. In whirlwind, he could feel-

Out of nowhere Bruce's head smacked down onto the bar table, and Jack was pretty damn sure a wretched mark would be left there in the morning.

"Well…" Jack sighed, his brows seeming to lift by themselves at the sight.

……….

"…….. That was interesting."

'_Note to self:'_

Lips like butter. Then again, butter's never been a healthy thing for anyone, now has it?

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_I hope that the back and forth usage of "Trent", "Jack", and "the Joker" didn't get too confusing. XP You see, from Selina's perspective it's "The Joker", but from Bruce's perspective, it's "Trent." Then, from the Joker's perspective, it's "Jack" because the makeup's off, haha. Is that okay? XP Haha, I also thought it'd be funny to interrupt Jack's marvelous sensations in the kiss with Bruce's head flopping down. XD Lol._

_I've got PLENTY of songs now thanks to you guys! :D No need for any more. Please, please, PLEASE continue to review! :( It seriously keeps me going._

_Fanart Requests for this Chapter:_

-Jack/"Trent" and Bruce chatting by the bar

-Bruce kissing Jack/"Trent" at the bar

-Selina's dress lighting on fire

-Selina and Jack glaring at each other

-Bruce holding a passed out Selina bridal style

-Jack fixing his tie with two dead bodies behind him

-A headshot of Jack covering up his scars

_I would love to see any of those, but if another scene catches your attention, you can draw it. :) If you need a reference for Heath Ledger because you've never seen him without the Joker makeup (which I would be pretty surprised if you haven't :0), just use these as references (minus the spaces):_

http/ /www .babble. com_ /CS/blogs/famecrawler/2008/heath-ledger-cause-of-death.jpg_

http/ /snarkerati. com_ /movie-news/files/2008/01/heath-ledger.jpg_

http/ /movies. popcrunch. com _/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/heath-ledger-joker-02.jpg_


	7. Twice More, Thee Falls

_**Twice More, Thee Falls **_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so back off if you ain't into it! D: Lol.

**Ch. Summary: **Bruce Wayne is supposed to be a _playboy_, but when every girl in Gotham (plus a certain villain) wants his attention, things can get a little hectic.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –weepiness- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "Simple Man" by Shinedown **THEN** "In the Shadows" by The Rasmus (Thank you for this song, Saere! :D When I heard this, I was like, "OMG! BATMAN!" Haha.)

**Notes:** Dun, dun, DUN! The drama continues! Anyway, I thought you should all know- the Joker is SO gay for Batman(jk, lol)! Proof's in the pictures, people (take out the spaces). Haha:

Htt p/ /img.photobucke t. co m/albums/v4 39/tintti/m isc/jokerscanshoneycakesetc.jpg

Lol. Well, it all really depends on who's writing the comics. In most of them, the Joker's just saying stuff like "honey/cupcake/honeycakes" or whatever to be creepy and insulting. Then… there are other renditions, haha. XD I'm having too much fun with this. XP I just know that there are SO many people who are like, "RAWR! The Joker and Batman HATE each other! This is SO wrong! BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!" Lol. Honestly, Batman pretty much hates the Joker, but the Joker… Well, it _varies_ with him, haha. This pairing is sort of like semi-canon in a very, very small way. I WILL defend my stories! XD I just love writing about what seems to be –gasps- THE UNTHINKABLE! HOW GROSS! Lol. Oh, you people make me giggle. Thanks to MsMeow, Ninjainacan, and Xxhalycon-lambxX for all of the art. Seriously it was so amazing! Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

"_In the Courtroom, the judge will not catch wind of this- up there on the stand, I plead the fifth." – Plead the Fifth by Relient K _(just because I love that song)

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

Morning was never a happy time. Not in Wayne manor. Bruce Wayne had a habit of going out on late night escapades for the sake of Gotham City's safety. However, it never did anything for his own well being. The master would always come home early the next day, beaten and bruised, only in need of some at-home investigation. If Alfred caught him, he would usually tend to his wounds as an unspoken favor.

This morning, however, was different. Bruce still had the usual bruising, but how he had wound up that way was… different. Peculiar, to say the least. He had passed out on the bar the night before, leaving a large bump in the corner of his forehead. It wasn't anything he couldn't hide with his hair, though.

He did remember one thing, though- he had kissed someone. That someone was Trent… Berscelli? Yes, that was the young man. Trent had happened to be getting a lot out of him. In fact, he had been all too willing to give out information. With his last breath of consciousness, Bruce had to deter the conversation. He had certainly found a very strange way to do such. It didn't mean much to him. He had kissed many women in his life- he knew how to feel those emotions and flirt like an expert. This was no different.

Still, he was rather upset at himself for taking such a risk. He didn't know enough about Trent and whether or not he would be one to smear the Wayne name. Bruce had just felt so comfortable around him. Maybe he had even felt too comfortable?

"There you are, sir," Alfred minded carefully, handing Bruce a small, white tray of pain killers and water. "You mind telling me what happened to ya' last night?"

Bruce took a deep breath; the feel of empty, scentless air filling his lungs was almost intoxicating. It was peaceful, in a way. For Bruce Wayne, to have nothing going on for once was relaxing. But, of course, there was _always_ something going on. "The champagne was spiked," he mumbled, speaking beneath his teeth.

"Someone spiked the _alcohol_, sir?" Alfred quirked a brow, confused by the notion. It was a bit of an odd concept, but it was plausible, he supposed.

"I'm not entirely sure they spiked it with anything normal, Alfred. I passed out pretty quickly. Not to mention, something happened to Selina. I think someone's got it out for me," the billionaire pensively pressed his head into his palm. There was nothing surprising about a mysterious perpetrator desiring for a rich man to fall flat on his face, but the tricks used last night were strange.

Alfred's eyes drew downward. He seemed to be onto something, his finger barely touching the tip of whatever it was. "… The Joker, perhaps? You've made some nasty public comments about both he and Batman, if I may add," the butler placed his hands in his pockets, thinking heavily upon his own words.

Bruce grit his teeth, meeting Alfred's gaze thereafter. "Whatever's going on Alfred, I'm going to figure it out," he muttered coldly.

"Until then, you've got a cruise to catch," Alfred said, stepping aside to view the woman that had just entered the room in a fresh change of clothes. She looked nice and refreshed from the evening prior, where someone had purposely been out trying to sabotage the party. Her hair was worn up in a tight bun, her makeup done prettily in soft shades of pink.

"Selina," Bruce stood from his chair, calling out to the woman with a smile, "Do you like… boats?"

++

It was certainly a beautiful morning. Not a single, wispy cloud hung over the blue ocean waters. The cruise ship was filled with socialites, and all were begging for Bruce's attention. It was pretty hard to keep up with him. Selina was being roped around the entire place, every face passing faster than the wind. Bruce sure was a busy guy- or at least it would seem. There were plenty of old ladies along the way too. Each one more wrinkled and gigglier than the last.

"Bruce," Selina huffed, "I need to use the ladies' room." It was that same excuse she had used last night. The leading man was beginning to ponder whether or not she would use this excuse for every uncomfortable situation.

Selina, on the other, was taking a quick break to scan the jewelry along the old women's necks. If she saw anything that pleased her, she would make note of it, learn their name, and take it when she pleased (as long as she dawned her own mask).

Bruce watched her fade into the crowds, her jet black curls bouncing with each step she took on those heels. He knew that she wasn't very impressed him, and he, frankly, appreciated it. Still, she didn't always have to be so… vague. Then again, with his own secrets, he didn't have a whole lot to keep against her.

Bruce turned his head, examining the people surrounding him. Sometimes everything just seemed so surreal- so out of place. All of the glowing faces of the rich and the fake spoke harmoniously about what his life had grown tired of. It was all what he knew he couldn't bear if he didn't have Batman. Before Batman, he never even wanted to face these people. Now he was on a cruise, partying with them.

It was then that he noticed her. She appeared to be a fit old woman, her back turned to him, leaning against the ship's railing and gazing out to sea. Her white hair was pinned back neatly, soft curls, much looser than Selina's, sat against her back. From the top of her head, her hair was straight. She must have just curled it for the evening.

No one was talking to the poor woman, and unlike everyone else, she refused to mingle. Whether or not she wanted to talk, he would soon find out. The billionaire sympathized with her and chose to approach the elderly woman.

"Enjoying the food?" he smiled, stepping towards her and noting the steak kabob in her manicured hand.

The old woman turned to face him, but… it wasn't an old woman at all. She was a stunning young girl. Her icy blue eyes shone up at him in the sunlight, round lips spreading apart in surprise. That cleft chin of hers trembled for a moment from the chill of the air, but she composed herself and returned his gesture of small talk, "Yeah, it's pretty good. The sauce on this one is a little heavy, but other than that, it's nice." She beamed back at him.

The Wayne entrepreneur was taken aback for a moment by the shock of her lovely features, but he stuck out a hand anyway. "Bruce," he offered.

"I know," she laughed, sticking out her own, delicate hand, "Silver St. Cloud."

The name suited her in a strange way. It certainly fit her hair, wherever she had gotten it from. It was definitely peculiar to meet such a young girl with prematurely white hair. Rather than detract from her, it added something. She was a special girl, Bruce could tell.

The two of them wound up talking most of the evening. The conversation fled from her hair, to politics, to movies, and back again. Unlike most girls he spoke with, Silver didn't bring up the Batman. It was nice, for once. Frankly, he was tired of hearing about his alter ego. When it was time to say goodbye to her, he really hadn't wanted to. He knew what "business" he had to continue upon returning to the penthouse.

Selina had disappeared for the remainder of the evening, leaving nothing but an apology letter when he returned home. Alfred said she had been very ambivalent. She didn't say where she was going or why. Bruce had gone from woman to woman, nothing very serious, but he knew he was getting himself knee-deep in some strange activity now.

Silver seemed like a wonderful girl, but Selina… could she even be trusted?

++

It was the darkest part of night now. The air swelling around his thick armor couldn't distract him from the center of his focus. Down below, in the swirl of lights created by all of the cars, some goons all dressed in black were swarming an old warehouse (_how typical_) with something (_or someone_) wrapped up in black trash bags. The figure was squirming, attempting to wriggle free from their grasp.

The Dark Knight swept down upon the scene, slowly descending towards the warehouse unseen. The old wood boards creaked as he landed, but no person or thing would have noticed in that decrepit place. With fearless eyes, he studied the happenings below.

A tall man stripped a black trash bag from the victim's head. Apparently, an interrogation had begun. "Your father promised the annihilation of the Italian's end! Why hasn't he delivered, eh?" a man with thick, black gloves and a play mask on yelled at the girl, his hoarse voice roaring through the wall panels. It was the Russian. He must have been undercover for some reason. That aside, his voice was unmistakable.

The ethnic girl gazed up, her chocolate eyes refusing to shake in terror. "My father wanted this _all_ to go away. My father will KILL you," she spat up at his face, unshaken by his words. With the kind of person her father was, there was no reason to worry about any supposed deals he had made. Her father wasn't a crime lord- he was something else completely. Obviously, he would weed this particular man out of society sooner or later.

The Russian didn't like that one bit. "Stupid girl!" he growled, backhanding her roughly across her face. The woman's deep chestnut hair flew to the side, falling upon her reddened cheek like autumn leaves. "With you here, your father will answer to me," he remarked.

The Russian turned around, viewing two gunmen faithfully behind him. There they were, two men dressed all in black with large, sleek shotguns in their arms. He had entered with three. "Where's Czeche?" he asked fiercely, frustrated by the third's absence.

The other two men shrugged, one bluntly suggesting that he may have had to take a leak. How… lovely. "That bastard better get back here in ten seconds, or I'm blowing his head off!" he barked, accent thick and distracting.

He turned back towards the woman in the chair, an obvious look of surprise planted upon her pretty face. She had seen something? "Where did he go!? You tell me now!" he clutched her shoulder, yanking her an inch off the chair in which she sat. She said nothing, utterly speechless and without a response. The Russian found it useless and dropped her back onto the splintered chair.

One of his goons stood shaking, his gun rattling in his hands. There had been plenty of rumors about Gotham and its inhabitants, "Do you think it's-"

"_SHUT UP_!" their leader blew up at them. This was no time to be worrying about such silly things. Although it had been confirmed that the Batman was real, this was not the time for paranoia. He wanted answers from this girl, and he would get them.

… Or so he thought.

It seemed as though every time he turned his back on his men, the group would shrink. Now there was no one. He decided that NOW was the time to panic. "Come out you coward!" he shrieked, pulling a pistol out of his coat and aiming it towards the cracked ceiling. Gun fire rang out, causing the captive woman to flinch at the sound.

He heard a scream, realizing that he had shot one of his own men. Blood sputtered out onto the floor, a figure dropping from the ceiling. His henchman's body crashed onto the concrete, the sound of his bones crackling like that of a dumpster turning on its side. He studied the mangled person, all contorted. Pieces of his skin were turning red from where the bone was attempting to poke out. Dumb mistake.

The Batman was in here somewhere, removing his men one by one until there were no more. Instead of hitting Batman, he had foolishly taken blind shots until another had to pay. At least it wasn't anybody important- not in his eyes.

A large fist sprung out of the darkness, colliding with his nose. After the shock passed, the Russian regained feeling in his face. His nose was in agonizing pain. It was probably broken now. "Bastard!" he groaned. Batman easily tied him up, tossing a string of wire in the criminal's direction, roping him in with extreme precision. The Russian felt himself grow dizzier with each turn. Unable to maintain a proper balance, he fell to his knees, his arms caught by his sides.

The woman watched as Batman disappeared, apparently roping the Russian up to wherever his men were located. She tried to avoid looking at the destroyed body before her, but no matter where she turned her head, he was always in the corner of her eye.

The mysterious crusader drifted towards the floor. She noted the magnificence of his wings, the way they flickered in the air. He was obviously well built and had incredible strength. It was rare when she came across such people other than her own kind, but there were more and more like him around as of late. She was always to expect the unexpected in Gotham, or so she was told.

His large boots pounded upon the floor with every step he took as he approached her. She was still so awed by him. "Thank you. Usually, I'm not so easily captured by the common criminal, but they took me off guard," the woman cracked a smile. He swiftly maneuvered around her, untying her bonds and removing the crinkled trash bag from her form.

The garbs the woman wore were similar to the ones he used to wear while in the presence of Ra's Al Ghul. This was unsettling. "You're in the League of Shadows?" the Dark Knight grunted, her some-what muscled figure rising from the chair she had been tied to. He had been in that very situation once. It may have been someone else keeping him captive, but he was no stranger to being bound by a chair.

"Not exactly," she sighed. The woman was obviously hiding something, but she managed to revert the conversation back to introductions. "I'm Talia," she stepped ahead of him, making her way out of the warehouse. Batman's lips spread apart, ready to explain himself.

"Don't worry. I expect no name in return," she glanced back, smirking deviously. Batman sealed his mouth tightly shut. There was something about this girl too… Talia.

Bruce wasn't stupid. This whole sudden introduction of so many females into his life was a bit odd. First, the Catwoman appeared, then Selina, then Silver… and now Talia. Did any of them have ties? Most likely, Silver had none, seeing as _he_ had approached her. Still, could Selina…?

++

Alfred Pennyworth pulled a cotton cloth out of his pocket, ready to make a good swipe over any piece of furniture that had happened to collect dust over the course of the week. It was common for him to take care of any remaining jobs in order for Mr. Wayne to come home from his late night crusades pleased by a clean home. It wasn't like Bruce appreciated it much anyway, but it meant something to Alfred.

Their relationship had become less and less formal over the years. With the passing of Bruce's parents, the butler had become more of a father figure and a friend than a servant. He never minded to hold his tongue unlike most servants and always had a word or two of wisdom for the younger man. Now that was something that Bruce could appreciate.

There were still a few condiments left out from the party the night before, and Alfred had taken it upon himself to tidy up a bit. He wasn't a maid, but cleaning up really didn't bother him. It often times gave him a feel of normalcy amidst the madness. Madness was something that Bruce had a tendency to drown himself in.

Perhaps the billionaire playboy he knew and loved was a bit insane? Most men his age wouldn't have considered creating the liberator he had. Then again, with his parents dying at such a young age, Bruce was introduced to a world without rules. He had no one to scold him other than Alfred, but he could have just told Alfred what to do. Instead, Bruce realized that he had to set up his own boundaries, and within that, had created a distorted reality. It was reality nonetheless.

Alfred concerned himself plenty with what his master had become, but it was his master's decision. Therefore, he chose not to push him in any specific direction. He could bestow words of wisdom upon him, but they were never forceful. The choices Bruce made were meant to be made up by Bruce. No one else.

The bar was the last thing Alfred would inspect for the night, then he would check in with the mattress. It looked pretty spotless save for a small spill of cleaner that one of the maids must have left. Some of them did very mediocre jobs, and even Bruce knew his butler was pristine. It had to be met by his standards.

He rubbed the spot well, making sure that no spits of film were left on the granite countertop. Alfred pulled away. He was satisfied with his work and could turn in for the evening… It was then that _something_ caught his eye.

A strange, tan-colored object lay awkwardly on the floor. Alfred picked it up for further investigation. It felt rubbery, resembling skin to an unfathomable degree. It was almost as if someone had been using it to cover something up…

… This was very strange. Very strange, indeed.

'_Note to self:'_

Am I missing something? …

Oh, sh-

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_WOOHOO! Chapter seven! I seriously think that's the farthest I've ever gotten into a story... O.O Pray for me! Lol. Well, the Joker wasn't in this chapter, but the entire story's mainly about him! There will be PLENTY more of him to come, haha. The Russian kidnapping Talia? AIN'T IT SUPPOSED TO BE DR. DARKK?? Yeah, well whatever. The Russian is much easier to deal with. He's just a dumb mob guy, lol. Guess what? Guess what?? GUESS WHAT?? Lol. I just found THE MOST PERFECT ENDING SONG IN THE WORLD! It's the best Batman/Joker theme I've ever heard. Someone suggested the band to me (not the song), but I found the song myself –pats myself on the back-. XD Lol. Anyway, there are going to be three endings to this story. The main ending, one with an unexpected twist, and one that I think suits this story/coupling the best. Anyway, do be expecting some girlier songs in the future. It's all for the girl characters. It all depends on who the chapter/segment is about. Catwoman will have some more racy songs while Silver may have some more light-hearted ones. Talia? We'll see. :0 Maybe SALSA! Lol! Just kidding. XD It'll probably be something less racy- more sensual. Don't worry, though. The majority of songs will be much darker- less pop. On a final note, I'm going to use a villain that I find is hardly ever used in fanfiction that I would actually really like to see in one of the newer Batman films. :D You'll see._

_Fanart Requests for this Chapter:_

- Talia smiling back at Batman

- Silver leaning against the rail, talking to Bruce

- Batman roping in the Russian with the wire-like whip-ish thing. (lol)

- The Joker checking his pockets, realizing he's missing something

- Alfred examining the piece of fake skin


	8. Kisses Dished Like Hour'dourves

_**Kisses Dished Like Hour'dourves**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so you must disappear if you don't like it! XD

**Ch. Summary: **Bruce has some issues with a fellow businessman, all the while, someone gets jealous of their honeycakes…

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –oh, the sadness- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "Lips Like Morphine" by Kill Hannah **THEN** "Oh! Emetophobia!" by Showbread

**Notes:** Really fun Catwoman song. :D It would also be an amazing Poison Ivy song, but I'm not sure if I will use her. Tell me if you want her, and I'll do my best to make her story more realistic (fitting in with the new Batman theme), and I'll work her into the story. Same with Harley. Tell me if you want her, and I'll try to make her a bit more believable while still keeping her childish charm. :D SECOND SONG IS AMAZING! To me, that is, hah. It's a really fun JokerXBatman song. Start the second up when the Joker comes in. If you can't find the song- find the lyrics and read them (or use Youtube/Myspace)! Anyway, if you read the comics, you COMPLETELY know where I'm going with this, haha. I'm getting less and less reviews with every chapter, and it makes me sad. :( Review, please? It seriously keeps me going. My motivation is dying down, and I don't want it to! D: Even if you don't have an account, PLEASE REVIEW!! Anyway, I'm going to be gone for a week, so coming home to tons of reviews would make me smile. :)

"_Smear the makeup on my face, run your fingers through my hair… You give a whole new meaning to drop dead gorgeous, and I'm about to drop_." _– Oh! Emetophobia! by Showbread_

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

Watching someone else prance around with the Batman was never fun to watch. To Catwoman, it was the perfect alibi to rip a woman's heart out through her throat. There were plenty of flirtatious looks exchanged, but whoever she was, she didn't last long and disappeared into the shadows- just like every other lunatic in this town.

Sure, she was one of them, and she was proud to admit it. No one minded her quite like they did the Joker or Batman, anyway. She wasn't always saving hundreds of people, but she never killed anyone. As long as the other two were there to swallow most of the press, she could do whatever she wanted around here.

Selina had always loved jewels, but living her life barely able to even pay the rent was not her idea of a good time. Day by day, she had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to make ends meet. The issue of her ex-husband was something that had aided to her troubles. Two years ago, the thief had escaped an abusive relationship. The bastard was locked up.

One, long leap and the cat fell upon the bat, their intertwined bodies crashing to the floor. Sure, one might consider Catwoman selfish. She wanted Gotham's jewels, and she wanted the attention of Gotham's finest. Rather than being an ordinary brute, Batman _protected_ the depraved like her. Still, she wasn't satisfied. Selina had to take matters into her own hands. She had always loved cats, seeing as she lived alone, but until Batman, she had never thought about dressing up and committing such acts that any normal person would deem as ridiculous.

She had been angry. She was pissed off that so many went about life in Gotham City like they could bully just anyone around. After divorcing her husband, Selina wasn't sure what to do with herself. She was angry, but what would she do? Would she finally take what was rightfully hers, or would she stay quiet? For a while, she had taken the silent route, keeping her inner battle away from the public eye. When Batman came upon the scene, there was reason to believe that she shouldn't have to care about such standards any more.

The two of them tumbled on the concrete, the Bat grunting in that inhuman voice of his. "Hello, gorgeous," she teased, gazing darkly into those two, brown jewels. It was so much fun to flirt like no one cared. She had been so nervous and uptight with her husband around, but now she was free.

Batman took note of the ruby goggles she now wore. It was probably just another precautionary measure she was taking to further conceal her identity. It was either that or she felt that her costume lacked a certain flair. Honestly, it wasn't of much concern to him. That subject was nothing compared to his current situation.

"What are you doing here?" the Bat growled coldly.

"Scoping the neighborhood, stopping a pervert or two… visiting you," she stroked his jaw playfully, her voice dropping with a single glance from the male beneath her.

"You shouldn't be stealing."

"-And none of us should be running around in masks, pretending to be something else."

Batman grimaced. She had a point, and it was a point he could not deny. In fact, he wanted someone to take his place. Someone with a face should be leading Gotham, not a masked crusader who only gave them unease and fear. He was not a hero.

Catwoman's leather heel dug into his, an eerie chill befalling their world. "Somebody had to do something," he broke the silence, adjusting his body roughly against the gravel which scraped against his cape.

Catwoman's movements were far more fluid than his. She stopped stroking his chin, lowering her arm back towards the floor and sinking in towards his lips. It was a lustful kiss, but Batman could not deny the toxic effect it held on him. His breath stopped for a moment, and her thick, wet lips moved against his with precision. He knew that scarlet lipstick must have been rubbing off on his own, thin mouth, but he paid no attention to such a small matter.

The Cat rose to her feet, easing upward with caution. "Better watch out. I hear that the Joker's out to get Gotham's golden boy, the Wayne. Not to mention, I'm sure he's got _plenty_ in store for you," she gained a bounce in her step, sleek voice carving out every word with pure spice.

It was strange. Batman couldn't tell for a second whether or not this woman could be trusted. It seemed like there were two, separate identities in her, each battling for control. Then again, this was true for most of the masked vigilantes in Gotham. Whether or not she was lying, Bruce had to take her words seriously. He couldn't risk otherwise.

Batman wasn't sure what to make of her words, but if the Joker was out to get him personally, the psychotic clown must have been involved with the occurrences at the party. He didn't need to check his motives, seeing as most of the Joker's work had no rhyme or reason, but _what _would he do, and how could he stop him?

It would be another busy night.

++

Maybe he was uptight. Maybe even careless. Maybe it was both? Roman Sionis had made plenty of mistakes in this business, and many had not pleased his funders. One such ring of encouragement was placed upon him by Wayne Enterprises.

Now, being associated with a Wayne was not Roman's idea. In fact, he despised the idea of only double knotting ties with the wealthy. They were all a bunch of fake bastards, and he wanted no part in their façade. His parents had used him for their image, and they had suffered for it greatly.

"There's no way this will be allowed," his father had bitterly put, referring to the strong feelings he had held for Circe, the meek secretary of his father's business Janus Cosmetics. His mother said nothing, glaring at him from the corner of her eye. They didn't love him. For goodness sake, he had been brutally attacked by a raccoon as a child, but even then, his expedient parents only promoted their own agenda, covering it up as best as they could. He was expendable in their eyes, nothing more than a prop on their stage.

So he did it. He finally burned down their house- living room, dining room, mum, and dad. With his father's funeral came his company. Too bad for poor Roman, he couldn't quite get the business down like his father had. There were too many papers, too many contracts, and too many investments to be made.

Lucius Fox currently sat across from him- the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and Bruce's appointed head. Lucius sat quiet and composed as he always had, his eyes fixed upon the countless digits on the sheet of paper before him. It wasn't the accountant's fault, no. The numbers were correct, regardless of what Roman chose to believe. For now, there was bitter silence.

A new member of the meeting finally arrived, complete with his usual, "Sorry I'm late," taking a seat just a few chairs away from Lucius and relaxing.

Bruce Wayne was someone that Roman didn't particularly like. He had been forced to play with the other as a child while his parents only pretended to play nice with the Waynes. It was detestable. Now here he sat, desperately reaching out to the man for help.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne. How nice of you to join us," Mr. Fox smiled sarcastically at his friend. Roman hated watching the two of them get all buddy-buddy with each other.

"So, Roman… What's the problem?" Bruce leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to the side. Lucky for the other company owner, he was actually wide awake today- regardless of the lack of sleep he had gotten the night before. There had been some alarming discoveries made that could keep him awake for hours on end.

Sionis pursed his lips, letting out it a low tone, "The last line of makeup completely… well, failed. It was a line of face paint makeup-"

"-With _the Joker_ running around here, wearing face paint, people aren't going to even like the sound of that right now," Bruce focused in on Roman's rugged face, only aggravated in the smallest bit. He had realized over the years that half of the time, Sionis didn't really know what he was doing.

"Fine then," Roman sighed, resting his elbows on the sleek table, "What do _you_ suggest that I do?"

Bruce rose from the leather armchair, "Create something new. There are plenty of women nowadays that are looking for special beauty products." With that, he took long strides out of the room, fixing his coat all the while.

Roman was almost insulted that Bruce didn't have more to say. Frankly, he was feeling horrid about his business right now. Coming to Wayne Enterprises had been a mistake. "Well…" Lucius cut through his thoughts, his voice always solid and reassuring, "… You heard the man." He smiled at Sionis, exiting the area promptly.

Roman frowned. What a big waste of time.

++

A fierce wind threw itself around him, carrying his hair up into the air and down again. The Batman would be here anytime now, searching for him. He knew he'd made a little mistake- leaving that scar cover behind, but it really had only made the situation that much more interesting. Now Batman knew that the Joker was up to something, and if Bruce Wayne was smart, he would have realized that he had just shared a kiss with the devil.

The Joker licked his scarred lips. He could almost feel the Bat creeping up on him in the shadows, and he couldn't help but grin at the thought. He knew his Batman well enough to read where he was going and why. It really wasn't very hard.

"Joker," came that growling voice. The villain broke out into a soft cackle at the sound of his own name. He looked up, and there stood the Bat.

"Where have _you_ been? Planning on worrying me?" the painted man spoke in that annoying voice that Batman hated more than any other.

"Why are you targeting Bruce Wayne?" Batman shut down any other "witty" remarks that the other man planned on making. He wanted to cut to the chase. Then again, he wasn't sure why he should ever expect direct answers or respect from the clown.

"Targeting _Bruce_?" the Joker quirked a brow, leaning his head down a bit in sarcastic disbelief, "You mean _Bruce Wayne_? When did I say I was going after poor _Brucie_?"

"I'm sure you remember crashing a little social gathering."

"Who said I didn't just stop by for a cocktail?" he shrugged, smacking his lips.

Batman groaned furiously under his breath. He was tired of all of the crap. Every time the Joker did something, he had to put up with this whole cat and mouse routine.

In a thundering storm, his cape whipping at his ankles, the dark knight swarmed upon the Joker like a rushing wind. The Clown Prince of Crime felt his head crash against the wall behind him, giggling as pain shot down his aching spine.

"Just TELL me," the flying rodent roared like a lion.

"MY, what _beautiful_ eyes you have!" the Joker chuckled, mocking the words Bruce had used while speaking to "Trent." Little did he know, the Batman heard those words all too clearly.

"TELL-" the caped crusader was cut off by a rough impact. The Joker had literally thrown his mouth at the Bat's, shoving his tongue down the other's throat. Batman could feel the thick scars rubbing against his mouth, and the taste of the villain's tongue was like someone's old, rotting lunch. He could feel nausea swelling deep within himself.

The Bat bit down on the Joker's tongue, causing the green-haired madman to fall back, half cackling and half whimpering as the small cuts made along his tongue began to bleed in his mouth. It wasn't like he hated the taste of fresh blood, so he didn't seem to mind all too much.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not after Wayne," Joker spoke numbly, laughter still bubbling in the back of his throat. "Now, _the cat_… You might want to watch her," he smirked, cold eyes spitting fire into Batsy's brain.

So he was after Catwoman? Had she been at the party? A million thoughts per second whirled around in Batman's head, twisting and contorting the truth he already knew. He had to find her.

Without thinking, the caped bat tossed himself from the side of the rooftop, hovering out of the Joker's line of vision. The villain gleefully danced to the edge, watching the Bat sway from side to side in the night air. It was always such a pleasure to be at war with such an up-tight bastard.

In the darkness he smiled, whispering to no one,

"Until next time, Batsy…"

'_Note to self:'_

Sweet, sweet nectar…! I've kissed _those_ lips before!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_Roman's not a happy guy. :'( As you can tell, both Jack and Roman burned their parents to death. Yikes. It'll have a small importance, I guess… Small. I listen to too much sad music. :( I don't know… Maybe that affects how I write? Of course, haha. My stories are always bittersweet (gah.. my rambling). I'm going to takes bits and pieces from a lot of comics. You'll see how I mix in all of these characters' stories. Everything will make sense in the end. :) I really am one to believe that everything happens for a reason, so you'll see. Here I go, blabbing on about the story again. XD I really need to learn to keep quiet before I spoil something major! This may sound funny, but I watched a music video that totally enhanced what's going to become of my story. It reminded me of a Batman comic, and it gave me tons of ideas. You'll see! :) I'm going to use the song from the video too. No more songs! I've got so many now, it's crazy! Haha. Thanks so much to everyone who contributed. :) I think somebody should make a Joker video with "Oh! Emetophobia!" because it would just make me smile. :)_

_Fanart Requests for this Chapter:_

-Joker watching Batman fly away

-Catwoman on top of Batman

-Joker forcing a kiss as Batman pins him to the wall

-Roman glaring at Bruce across the table

-Lucius winking at Bruce with Roman on the other side, confused


	9. Running With Scissors in Thy Hands

_**(Running with) Scissors in Thy Hands**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you don't like it, NO SOUP FOR YOU!

**Ch. Summary: **Bruce Wayne _can_ find love away from models, a love that will last… or so he hopes.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. I also do not own Seinfeld or the Soup Nazi. –"oh, noes!" crying- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "February Air" by LIGHTS **THEN** "Blurry (Take it all Away)" by Puddle of Mud (Thank you, Vampire Kid Kara! Man, I love this song…) **THEN** "It's Over, Casanova" by LIGHTS

**Notes:** For the songs, first one immediately, the second when it moves to Joker, and finally, start the last one when Bruce is with Silver again. Thank you to all of the reviewers! :D I came home, checked my email… saw "22 messages" and went, "HOLY MACKAREL! I'M IN HEAVEN!" Haha. Sorry I didn't respond to all of your reviews, though. :( So, let me answer some of your general questions. :3 "When will we get some real Batman/Joker action?" When the story allows it! They're an incredibly delicate pairing (especially on Batman's end, haha). It'll be worth it when we get there. "What is this building up to?" HEY! I can't give that away! Haha. Just kidding. I promise you that I have a plan, and each character needs to be there (Yes. All three girls too). :) This story is going to wind up being a LOT like a certain comics… "Is Roman who I think he is?" –coughs- MAYBE… -shifty eyes- To the rest of you- thank you so, so, so much for the support! Also, thanks a million bajillion (hm… that's not a number) times to MsMeow for all of the amazing art! :D Finally, if any of you happen to wonder about what I do/do not agree with in my own stories (seeing as I write characters that choose paths very different from my own), you can message me about it, but please don't do it in the reviews. Thanks! :D

"_Chaos all around- explosions and fire. You took me off the ground, and lifted me higher." – I Owe you One by LIGHTS_

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

It was half an hour now.

"You like your coffee?"

"Hah, oh… It's hot chocolate."

"Haven't had that since I was a kid."

"Frankly, I'm not one for caffeine."

Half an hour around the square, and he couldn't seem to pull past the small talk. Silver looked so pretty in her white tank top and jeans. It had been a while since he had been on such a casual date. A few people decided to disturb their peace every once in a while. Everyone had something to say to Bruce nowadays. He just wished he had something more to say to the mysterious woman beside him.

The crisp winter air was wrapping its arms around her, and a quick chill shot up her spine. Bruce saw her body tremble at the wind's touch. "Here," he seamlessly stripped himself of the black coat on his back, setting it upon her smaller frame. She smiled up at him with her glossy lip balm- a small thanks in return.

"So," Silver breathed out, focusing back down at the foam swirling atop her drink, "You're going to have to make up for Janus Cosmetic's mistakes, eh?"

Bruce's eyes shot down at her, "You know about that, huh?"

"Of course," her sparkling eyes dove into him, "I know plenty about Wayne Enterprises. It's not like the media's just going to ignore you, even with the Batman around."

"Well, at least my colleague-"

"- Roman Sionis."

"Yes… Apparently, he gave the chemists a good chunk of money to come up with something, and they're working on it now."

"That can be a good thing, or a bad thing, right?"

Bruce nodded, "He's rushing."

Sure. Work was not the most interesting thing, but it was something to talk about. It had been like this all day. One step to the next about awfully mediocre topics. Bruce noted how good she was at taking notice of small things. He was pretty sure that she had his face memorized better than anyone else by now.

"I have a photographic memory," Silver giggled softly.

The two of them sat down on a bench. It was a bit wet, so Bruce tossed the suit jacket he had been wearing under his coat onto the wooden panels for her to sit comfortably. She seemed appreciative, once again flashing him a grin underneath those satin lips.

"Oh, really?" he smirked, turning away from her for a moment. "-Then what color are my eyes?"

The white-haired girl chuckled, brushing a few strands out of her face, "That's too easy. Brown."

Bruce adjusted himself to face her once more only to find that she, in turn, had switched her view and was facing the opposite direction. "Let's test your memory. What about mine?" she slyly queried.

"Let's see. Well," Bruce studied his hands for a moment, opting for the romantic, "A fine shade of crystal blue. They're a deeper navy around the iris, giving them the effect of… sapphires."

Silver met his gaze once again, her smooth complexion glowing at his flirtatious words. She seemed awed for a moment, then taken aback at the quickness of his response. A small smirk crept upon her face as swift as a very small ant, "Bruce?"

"… Yes?"

"… Shut up."

Her arm stretched out, caressing his cheek far more delicately than the Catwoman had. Her fingers felt like flower petals against him, and the sensation ended with a kiss. He felt sparks between them that he couldn't find elsewhere. Sprits of butterflies struck him left and right, and immediately, he was thrown back to something like a first kiss. She was something else. Whether or not he could keep her, even through what Rachel endured, he would have to tell with time.

………………..

………………..

Steam amidst the windowsills had finally cooled, and their bodies were now apart. An eruption of flames licked up from the fire place. Consistent warmth now surrounded the room, windows revealing a currently dormant city, vast of innocents and criminals alike.

Silver's snowy mane was a mess, but everything else about her spoke "composed." Her half-lidded eyes gazed upon him flirtatiously, lips sensually split apart from his rough kisses. She knew that a kiss told much about a man, and such a thing spoke measures for Bruce Wayne. He was a strong man with morals far beyond what he would ever allow anyone to know.

Now, now… Not everything was told simply from a kiss. They had spoken further in depth during the course of the evening, and she had seen past the façade that so many had known him for. What he could lose from showing his true self, Silver did not know. It wasn't just because he was attempting to trigger a conformity machine by which the standards of a rich man must live, nay… it was something much more.

"This is a _very_ nice couch," Silver chuckled, examining the markings it had left on her upper arm.

"A very rough one at that," Bruce smiled, rejoining her on the black cushion.

"You have many experiences on this thing?" her eyes widened like golf balls. She seemed to be joking as the smile on her face told, but he was not one to shy away from caution. Really, he had nothing to be afraid of.

"Honestly, I don't let too many women hang around the place for too long," Bruce wrapped his strong arm around her small shoulder. It was true. There was one too many secrets he had lying around for some bored and/or suspicious girlfriend to be prying about. Silver was no such girl. He could sense it. Still, she was smart. That was something he had to watch.

The woman in his arms looked up at him from her place on his shoulder. "Well, I hope you'll let me hang around for a while," the smile on her mouth faded, then regaining the position their lips once held. This was love.

… He just hoped he could keep it.

++

It was missing again- that click and clamor, the aches and pains, the laughter he had. That rodent really had something on him. Batman wouldn't die. Batman couldn't die. Then he would be an IMPERFECT foe. That was the point in facing the Bat with things he knew would kill just about anyone else. And for that, he loved him.

Love was a strange word (_very odd, indeed_). It was both a temporary and permanent thing. A noun and a verb. Although it would last between two people, once their passing came about, where would that love go? Then again, as long as humanity existed, there would be this "love."

Until a person were to live without rules (_as I have sensibly chosen_), they would not reap the rewards of a truly unconditional love. A world with rules means a love with conditions. "_As long as you don't hurt me- I'll love you. As long as you keep me happy- I'll love you._" That was how they all thought. Of course, few would admit to it, but it was branded into each of their subconscious.

Instead, the Joker sought past the pain and anguish but saw the joy in every bruise and scrape. He loved the feel of the challenge. Murder was even better than sex… because he was always in the mood! Everyone _thought_ he was demented, sure, but that was in comparison to their weak standards. He knew that even the woman sitting beside him, dressed up as a cat, thought he had a few screws loose. Little did all the simpletons know, he was unabridgedly coherent of his every action.

"Why are you doing this? You're a sick bastard, you know that!" the painted man shrugged playfully at Catwoman's words.

"Not like I haven't heard that one before, sweetheart," he prodded her with a dulled knife, eyes narrowed down on her slick costume. "Besides, I've got to get Daddy's attention," he muttered. The Joker began to stroke the metal's edges, studying the shining gray in total admiration.

The following moment was silent. The Cat's face almost seemed to contort from perfect fear to a sort of clever surprise. Her furious eyes lit up like spring, and something within her face began to flutter with egotism. At first, it was as if she had seen a ghost, but the flush passed, and she saw a hidden secret that she was not expecting. It was like the floodgates of heaven were opening up, and she was beginning see a possible freedom.

"You… You're jealous of me aren't you?" the leather clad female threw back her pretty head, laughter erupting from between her teeth. "Sorry, but I don't think the Bat would care to take _you_ to prom, honey."

In a sense, it was true. The Joker did not appreciate another costumed creature of the night vying for Batman's constantly divided attention. He wanted to consume it- more or less like the apple of his eye (_if you choose to put it so kindly_). He would leave his carcasses behind, and Batman would count and examine his art. It was perfect. Why not make a piece of perfection out of little Miss Kitty here, hanging on the wall?

"You know… I could blow this shit up right now… And the world wouldn't give a damn about you," The Joker grinned back up at her, ignoring her ignorant words, letting them pass in one ear and out the other, "You see, there's life without you, kitten, whether you realize it or not."

He tapped his chin in a pensive fashion, "You see… your little _strip act_ that you put on for him each night is just a little distraction to him from _me_." The Catwoman's minor, petty crimes held no comparison to him, and he knew it. She was (_just like everyone else in this armpit of a city_) a JOKE!

"You don't have the guts to admit it," she hissed, leaning in from her current bondage, "That you're just another piece of worthless _scum_ to him, and that he actually _cares_ about me."

A freshly sharpened knife almost seemed to spring out of the Joker's pocket, and just as quickly, he sprang forth towards the blood stained wall to which she was chained. Selina could see every wrinkle and speck on his rotting face, and the smugness in which her prideful exterior once held suddenly faded.

"_What did you say!?_" his voice changed, growling from the back of his throat like a beast. He was toying with the blade in his hand. Catwoman felt the cool metal dancing about the fabric on her neck. She didn't dare look at that face. She couldn't stand looking at it from that close up. The Joker grabbed her frail jaw harshly into his large, gloved hands, making her stare him down in the eyes. Those scars were wretched.

A fierce wind rolled in the window, and a roaring voice aided its entry, "Put the knife down, Joker."

The villain stood between them now, the two masked vigilantes- the cat and the bat. He cringed for a moment as the woman before him switched emotions. Once again, she was sitting pretty, all smug and whatnot.

"You've _really_ ought to learn to think before you speak," the Joker cackled, dropping the knife down, tip first, onto Selina Kyle's foot with force. "And down it goes!" he laughed cruelly, watching Catwoman's mouth grow to twice its size, shouts of pain eking out as shimmers of crimson red bled through in the slightest bits.

Batman was expecting such. Two days prior, the Joker had warned him that his next victim would be the Catwoman. Once he had set him loose to look for her, she had seemed fine. That was until the current night- all he could find was a dead cat pinned to police headquarters, dried blood running down from the nail where it had been stuck. It had a note hanging from its lifeless mouth. In blood, most likely its own, the note had read:

_If you've got a missing kitty, you know who to find!_

_XOXO _

He could see that sick face grinning when he read it, and now it was physically before him. This twisted clown had taken the world away from him. It was time to get it back. It was time to put Gotham back in its proper place with its innocents far from harm's way. To the Joker, they were anything but "innocents."

Batsy leaped from his place, grabbing the Joker by the arms and yanking him to the floor. The caped crusader rolled in the other direction, tossing his nemesis away from his current victim. The blurs of purple and black divided, the Joker's form sprawled out on the floor, and the bat now standing between him and the cat.

"MARVELOUS! That a new little trick?" he chuckled, adrenaline pumping at the thrill. His face grew wild, and his eyes opened wide, anticipating the other man's every move.

"So is this-!"

An impeccably small, needle-like object flung onto the villain's throat, and within seconds, his laughter died down, and all was still once more.

Catwoman regained her balance, incredible pain still emanating from her petite foot. One of the ears stitched onto her costume had become loose, hanging on by a single thread. "What was that?" she breathed out.

"Something a close friend cooked up," he muttered in return. In haste, he unchained her from the wall, and clangs erupted as they hit the sides.

Her glowing blue eyes met his, "I guess we're even then." Batman smiled, baring into the thoughts within this creature.

"I guess so."

++

It was a crying shame that mommy and daddy couldn't see this now. He watched from above as all of the meager factory workers packaged and sealed the products. It was a proud moment, and he was pretty sure that this endeavor was bound for success. Every pastel pink box was his mark of approval.

Dr. Rupor stood behind Roman, basking in something else, rather. He felt his nerves pinching, and if it weren't for the medication he had taken earlier, he might have even tossed his cookies, as they say. "We couldn't test them. I really don't feel well about this," he whined. If such precautionary measures were not taken, horrible things could happen. "We couldn't even put warnings on the packages!"

"Please, doctor," Mr. Sionis growled. He did not enjoy his hope being crushed by an employee, "When have you _ever _felt well?"

Dr. Rupor knew that he had reason to fret. Roman had yet to make a smart move with the company, and sending a cream out that was never even tested was the biggest mistake a business man could make.

"Please, sir," Rupor pleaded, his throat aching with every note, "Bruce Wayne would have never made such a mistake!"

That name. Oh, how that name turned his stomach. Out of everyone, that damn chemist had to bring up a WAYNE! "Listen to me!" Roman whirled around, snatching the other man up by the collar, wringing his throat with it in his large fist, "Bruce Wayne is just some tart sitting up in his penthouse, never taking a risk, letting another man run the business for him!"

Roman Sionis dropped Rupor, and the man's aching body was safely on the ground again. Rupor's thin, wormy lips curled downward, beads of sweat dropping down his chin. "At least he has taste," he mumbled under his breath.

"Rupor?" Roman called back as he gripped the metal railing angrily.

"Yes, sir?"

"… You're fired."

++

The Batsuit was off. Now, all he had to do was sneak back inside without anyone (except perhaps Alfred) noticing his muscled form crawling in through the panel on the wall. The house was, at the moment, pitch black, save for the living room.

Bruce rushed inside, prepared to view the scene of his large, spacious penthouse, and a peaceful Silver sleeping by the fire. Of course, he would never get what he wanted. He was just human, after all.

Silver was up and wide awake, her long hair tied neatly up in a high bun. "I don't know why I didn't expect this," she lamented, finishing buttoning up the last hole around the collar of her cacky coat. "You're a billionaire playboy," she sighed, using the same words that any other news anchor could conjure up.

"You thought I was-?" he stopped, watching as her eyes painted the mental picture of him and another woman. "Silver, no. I wouldn't-"

"You must be very practiced at this routine by now, Bruce. Come on. Where are the clever excuses? 'I was called in for a meeting! I left something at the office!'" she mocked him, gesturing the quotes with her long, slender fingers.

She stormed over to the elevator, heels clicking with every step. She then pressed the down button, and the arrow lit up. Bruce followed her over. His demeanor had changed dramatically, and he no longer took strides with even temper.

"Silver, please. You don't understand-"

_TING!_

The metal doors slid apart, allowing entry. Seemingly unruffled, the woman stepped cordially inside. "You know, Bruce. Maybe I don't… But maybe I don't need to," she caught him by the eyes. Silver knew something bothersome was up. If she didn't leave now and grew too attached, when would she?

"You're not just another woman to me. You know that," he spoke softly, his face becoming calmer at the sentiment.

Silver shook her head, "Maybe another day, Bruce. We were going too fast anyway."

The doors closed over her, that pretty face reduced to her thin nose, then nothing more. Just like that, she was gone.

'_Note to self:'_

Murder is better than sex. Now, sex _with_ a murderer… You tell me, honeycakes.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_Did I steal certain lines from certain comics? Yes. Also: Yes. All of Silver's songs are going to be adorable, haha. I just want to show some contrast amongst the characters with the music. Some may disagree with me, but I just always kind of saw her as a cutiepie. Maybe because, unlike all the other girls, she's not parading around at night, beating the crap out of guys? Haha… That's probably it. Some comic art portrays her as looking older like, "RAWR! I'm a minx!" (lol at my confusing and OOC descriptions), and some make her look sweeter and less intimidating. I'm going with the second, as you may have guessed, haha. Really, the ACTUAL reason that I chose the artist "LIGHTS" for Silver is because her music makes me feel both happy and sad at the same time, which is kind of the feel I get from Bruce and Silver. Also, I know so many of you are like, "WAH! WHAT'S WITH BATMAN AND THESE WOMEN!? YOU LIED ABOUT THE PAIRING!" No, I did not. The women are important to the plot for a couple of reasons. Bare with me, okay? :0 –hugs- Haha. "Is this that last of Silver and LIGHTS?" Of course not._

_Fanart Requests for this Chapter:_

-Silver and Bruce walking together, casual and smiling.

-Bruce and Silver kissing on his couch.

-Joker threatening Catwoman with a knife.

-Batman standing between the Joker (on the floor) and a chained Catwoman.

-A looming Roman watching over the factory, Rupor standing behind him- queasy.

-Bruce holding the elevator open, hastily talking to a calm yet saddened Silver.


	10. A Cloth That Be Designer

_**A Cloth That Be Designer**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you would prefer not see visuals of two men together, you better high tail it and switch stories!

**Ch. Summary: **That purple suit? A true Joker original.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –teary- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "I Put a Spell on You" by Marilyn Manson **THEN** "Ooh La la" by Goldfrapp

**Notes:** Songs- The first for Joker's bit, then the second for Catwoman's entrance. I think the contrast in songs with definitely show the contrast in characters. -Especially with Catwoman's song, haha. Anyway, I'm going to try not to use so many smileys… I know I'm addicted to them! Haha. Anyway, this one was kind of odd. I had to think to myself what I was missing, what could bring the story back to center around Joker for a while, even though I need to make sure that I do round out each of the girls' characters. Tell me what you think! A lack of reviews makes me cry!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

The hotel room was a bit homey… Then again, he wasn't too sure if the word "home" applied to his life anymore, considering how he had burnt it down. What a lousy thing a home was! A hotel room wasn't much different from a home. There was a bed, a refrigerator (_mini, in fact. The more compact, the more fun! HAHA!_), a television, and… no parents. Rather, that last bit made it hell of a lot better than a home!

Jack looked over at the bed. There lay, Michelle was it? The girl whom had found him strangely attractive was now sprawled out on the blood stained bed- dead. Her scarlet hair was strewn about the cream colored sheets, every differing shade glowing in the florescent lighting. The snake bites on her black lips had been yanked out, leaving two, gaping slits on her mouth. Red rose slowly from each hole, matching nicely with her luscious lockes. Her hazel eyes almost seemed to continue to stare at him in her eternal sleep.

One might as well say he was a virgin no more. It was sex, even if it hadn't been very good at all. During their little endeavor, he continued to flash in and out of reality. He found himself visualizing that bat creature beneath him, writhing and wriggling in the erotic pain. Jack (_AHEM… That's Mr. Joker, to you_) would be in power, dominating over him, and then… there would come the kill. The Batman would be dead, and he would have proven himself the victor in their power struggle. Instead, he awoke to find this red-haired female underneath him, the plug to the alarm clock wrapped horrendously tight around her pasty white neck. So now, there she was. Her lifeless body looking hot in black lingerie.

Removing his hand from his face, the Joker looked down to see smears of chalky white, ruby red, and coal black smudged all over his left hand. He had forgotten about the makeup. It was a nice little touch he had added to his new lifestyle, and it covered up that damn face. Frankly, he didn't care to look at it anymore. It was so… sooo…. Normal. So bland. Now, THIS! This was funny! Right!?

A clock hung high up on the wall in front of him, tick-tocking the minutes of his life away. What could he possibly do with his day? Joker looked over half awake. He considered the old, worn red hood that sat on the floor. It was wrinkled and had blood stains all over it. Not to mention, the pockets were torn at the bottom, making them virtually useless.

He needed new clothes- but he wasn't going to go shopping, no, no. That so unnecessary, too public. He didn't care to be a part of the rest of their consumer driven lives. He was supposed to be the guillotine on conformity! The government was trying to get everyone to play by these… _rules_. It was simply meaningless. If everyone acted as their little rag dolls, then the world would be at peace! Yeah… right.

So, what could he do? He had an endless supply of materials around him. The world was built with materials! Materials for him to use and _toy_ with.

The drapes hanging over the curtains were a felt-like purple, lined nicely with satin, and the bed's comforter was covered in a deep, grassy sort of color. Yes… yes. Those would do nicely.

It was all coming together in his head now, and the outfit had become a lovely picture in his mind. Green and purple, purple and green! He could use ANYTHING! Maybe even something from Michelle's clothing that had been tossed to the carpeted floor? He had lived his entire life in the shadow of things.

It was time to show the world his true colors.

They wouldn't love him.

They wouldn't praise him,

And they certainly wouldn't like him…

… But he would be there, standing above the rest as he watched the world fall apart.

++

Bruce didn't understand why he still felt so uneasy. The Joker was finally locked up once more, but such a meager sentiment didn't mean that he was entirely _stopped_. He set his eyes upon the floor, taking the bridge of his nose into his hands. Something didn't feel entirely right… If Trent Berscelli had been the Joker, than he hadn't just kissed _anyone_. He had kissed a mass murdering psychopath that probably even enjoyed it in some, sick way.

The fog in his thoughts passed, and Alfred Pennyworth came into clear view. The butler wasn't carrying his usual, heart-warming smile. Instead, it was more of that "_your mother and father have just died_" sort of look. The cold and blunt stare in his chilly blue eyes spoke volumes. Yet another tragedy had occurred.

"You were right about that Roman, sir. He sure as bloody hell doesn't know a thing of what he's doing," the butler drew closer as his master rose to his feet.

Bruce was expecting this. Roman had always flown by life faster than jet plane when disaster struck. When his fellow business man had told him that he was struggling with the company, Bruce should have done something more. He should have aided him in his struggles, but much to his chagrin, there were more odious things afoot.

"What happened?" Bruce asked, already irritated under suspicion.

"Two weeks ago, the new line of facial cream from Janus Cosmetics hit stores. Mr. Fox just gave us a call about how these days have been faring for those that applied it," he continued to inform the other man, voice slowly sinking like a ship under fire.

Bruce clenched his jaw, steadying himself for the worst, "And-?"

"Women have been disfigured, sir. Thousands of lawsuits," Alfred lowered his eyes.

"That quickly? That stuff must have been _toxic_," Bruce bellowed, turning his gaze towards a large window that showcased the suffering city.

"That's what happens when you don't take proper precautions, I tell ya'," the white-haired man adjusted his view towards the window also. Soft blots of winter fog were unfortunate obstructions for his eyes, though.

"You don't need to tell me, Alfred, but I think it's about time someone gave Roman a call," he sighed.

++

Roman circled around the business area, stopping in the middle of a slew of fairly organized mahogany desks. His former secretary and current spokes model (and longtime girlfriend), Circe, was speaking with one of her coworkers, a flurry of frustrated words dropping like ammunition from her lips.

He hastened his pace as soon as his brown eyes caught sight of her, and his tall, muscled form rushed towards her in a fret. She didn't even speak to him this morning, and she had been ignoring all of his calls as of late.

"Circe," he growled in a low tone, snatching her wrist in his hand, but the woman that turned around no longer looked like Circe. Her face was covered in boils and scars. Seeing as she had been modeling the cream, it was bound to happen.

"YOU!" she shrieked, smacking his hand away in ferocity. It left a deep imprint on his hand, but what he was more concerned about was her. Just the fact that she had even shown up to work today astonished him. And he had… done this to her? No, it was Rupor! That failure of a chemist had done this to her.

"You good for nothing spoiled brat!" she cried, tearing away from his sight and storming past him. He quickly followed, desperation clamming his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled in his life, or if he ever even had. He thought that Circe was the only one whom could bring a smile to his face, and he was about to lose her.

She whirled around, hair snapping around and cracking, almost like a whip. A raging fire consumed her eyes- those fragile, beautiful eyes that Roman always found himself lost in. If only she knew the extent of his love. If only she would see that he didn't care how disfigured her face was.

She jut out a finger, jabbing him brutally in the chest. By now, every peon and their mother was watching. "You see this!?" she cried, motioning shakily to her tear soaked face. "YOU! _You_ did this! I mean… anything! Oh, Lord knows I would have forgiven you for _anything_ else! But THIS is too much!" Circe lowered her hands, relaxing a bit. A few sobs were still stuck to her tongue, curling out every other second. "I'm just… done. I'm done with this job… and I'm sure as hell done with _you_, a-and your half-baked schemes!" she fled through the room like a storm, coming and going in the blink of an eye.

Now he was alone. Figuratively, of course, seeing as there were hundreds of eyes on him now- all of his nosy little employees whom had dropped by the scene on their way for a hot cup coffee, or maybe they were innocently sitting at their desk and happened to just be there. Whatever it was, those worthless wastes of time and money had better get back to work or else-

His cell phone was vibrating in his pocket, tickling the side of his hip. Someone was calling him? "Now, of all times," Roman muttered beneath his breath, sliding the phone out from his large, navy pocket hole. The ID read: _Bruce Wayne_. "Son of a BITCH!" Roman shouted, simply drawing even more attention from the folk about him. He studied each of their faces, taking names all the while, "Back to work!" Lucky for him, this was one order they would follow. The usual hustle and bustle of the work place ensued.

He flipped the silver cell phone open, greeting the man with a grudge in his heart, "Hello?"

"Roman," the other started, sounding obviously off-put, "it's Bruce."

"I _know_," Sionis grumbled. A cold greeting.

"Your companies in deep-"

"No shit."

"Roman, I'm serious. I can get you out of this."

Roman's nostrils flared, sealing his eyes shut in order to relax himself, "How?"

"I'm buying the company."

"WHAT!?" Roman clenched the phone tighter, "Just, just- Toss more money at me! We can make this work!"

"I'm _not_ going to do that," Bruce replied firmly.

"C'mon, Bruce! It's the only way!"

"No, Roman. The _only way_ you're getting bailed out this time is if you hand over the company to me and allow me to appoint my own board. Understood?"

"Yeah… whatever."

Roman ended the call. He was losing his father's company. He had never been so humiliated. He drove it into the ground and took it to a place where he could no longer control it. Now, he was letting that little rich bitch Wayne take over.

This world was going to hell.

… And by his hands too.

++

Batman surveyed the area. The night sky was growing dim, and it was coming time for him to do some investigation in Gotham's East End. The mob had set up a new drug ring, mostly of cheap stuff, but it was beginning to grow in a way that set Bruce off. Something was going on. Were they distracting him? Such acts on a less-than-low-key note could be a cry for attention. But why?

A clawed hand curled around his stomach, creeping out of the darkness seductively. The arm ran soft, cool circles around his abs, inching its way up his body. "Hey, handsome," a voice purred in his ear, distracting him from his current objective. The radio waves in his ear died out, fuzz suspending in the air as he flicked the switch down, his thoughts now enraptured by the woman behind him.

"Not now…" he whispered lowly, trying with all of his might to surrender his lust to heaven above and focus on what was important.

"You're on my end of the city," the feline drew a line on his jaw with her index finger, wrapping herself around the masked man.

"I wasn't aware you had an end," he shot back. She didn't seem phased by his words and simply set her head in the nape of his neck, nuzzling his uncomfortable armor like it was made of feathers. Batman wasn't sure how much he liked her at this close of proximity.

"You think I don't want to protect people?" she queried lightly, dozing off from the smell of him.

Batman backed away from her, turning to face her in the eyes. Oh, those two, big, blue eyes that pleaded with him to stay underneath those dark goggles.

"You're a thief."

"I'm not a hero, and neither are you," her sensual voice dropped, far less empathizing than before. "People like you and I are protectors, liberators, saviors- not heroes."

The Dark Knight stared her straight in the eyes. Could he trust her? She had proven herself worthy before, and he knew that, deep down, he couldn't go this alone. "Fine," he agreed. "-But one wrong move and I'm hunting you down."

"You won't need to," she assured him, slinking off the other side of the mildew encrusted rooftop, and knelt over the ledge.

With a breathless stare at his female counterpart, Batman found himself far more confused than he had before. These women were all so fascinating, but he could also feel a side of him losing interest. There were too many of them. Perhaps Bruce could not love? Maybe it just wasn't his fate? He knew from the day that his parents had died that he was not meant to be normal. He was something more.

The Bat faded into the night, and Catwoman felt a huge release on her back. Every time she was around him, the world seemed to tense. Everything was just so serious with that guy. Sometimes a person just had to let go and breathe, for goodness sake. She kept her chin up, and decided to keep her eyes where they needed to be- on the people of Gotham.

A nearly silent creak echoed out behind her, and her ears quickly closed in on the sound. "Come out, whoever you are," she put apathetically, twisting around to see a young Arab-looking woman staring straight back at her. "Who are you?" she muttered with a melancholy bite of sarcasm.

"You don't need to know," the girl growled. Her furious brown eyes would not waver, regardless of the sirens and shouts below. "Just know that I have my claims on the Batman," she remarked confidently.

This girl couldn't be serious. Did she even know him? How did this happen? "Listen, ninja chick. I don't know what you're thinking, but the Batman belongs to no one," she shook her head, heat extending and branching out in her chest and throat. Something wasn't right here… That was the girl she had seen that one night. What had exchanged between the two of them? She felt like she was in school again, fighting over her rights for a man.

Talia's face stood as stone cold as a wall. "We are bethroved," she said, almost like a rehearsed line. Who had set this thing up? Was it a trap? What kind of trap IS that, anyway?

"If you have a crush, you don't have to _lie_," Catwoman drew closer, and Talia followed her ring of path.

"Lies are for worthless, petty thieves like you," the brunette hissed. Thunder struck in her eyes, and without a moment's hesitation, the Catwoman lurched forward, catching the girl's straight ponytail in her hand. Talia shrieked, leaning back and trying to keep up with the other female in order to sustain the hair on her head. Keeping with the pace would reduce any possible pain.

Talia gripped the other woman's smaller wrist with both hands, throwing her away and off of her head. Catwoman responded swiftly and landed promptly with one knee bent. One of her heels gave way, and she found herself buckling down, her landing thus damaged. '_Damn these stilettos… They always let me down,_' she mutedly complained.

There was a puddle planted under her feet from the afternoon's rain, and it sure as heck didn't help her now. Her leather was dripping wet, and at this rate, she wasn't sure how in mother nature she was going to take the other girl down. Talia was coming at her at insane speeds, those long, lithe legs speeding up.

She had to think fast, and with this water beneath her, she could easily distract the other girl. She cupped a small pool in her slender hands, tossing at the other woman's face. Talia's assault was thrown off, and she toppled forward, blinded, hair soaked, and mildly dazed. She smacked her hands against the concrete, stopping herself from falling head first into the floor.

Unfortunately for her, a certain cat stood behind her, stiletto high in the air, ready to slam her rump back down to the ground. Talia could sense this, and as quick as she could, got off of her hands and knees and fell flat on her back, clasping the boot with her hands. The leather rubbed against her thumbs, and with her strength failing her, Talia tossed Catwoman's leg in the air. The masked vigilante didn't have a whole lot of choice with the force against her leg, so she did a quick back flip, landing sloppily. It couldn't be helped, seeing as she hadn't taken a running start.

A distant hum rang through her ear drum, and her attention was drawn down to the world beneath. A white van had pulled up to the building, and men in sweats were hauling sacks of what must have been "the goods" into the building.

Catwoman looked up at the other girl on the opposite side of the building, bidding her and her nonsense farewell. "I'll deal with you later," she said, tossed herself down the side of the building, and catching herself on a low arch.

What was all that talk with that girl about her and Batman? Who was she anyway? Something terrible was afoot, and it was hitting too close to home for comfort. That girl was trouble.

++

Roman sat in the family mausoleum. Silent. The world around him, that is. The ebony pieces of work stood about him, haunting his presence with words of hatred. Inside his head, things were screaming and reeling. He looked at his parents' names. One stuck out to him.

"Charles Sionis."

His father had always told him his ideas were too risky, and he never seemed to appreciate all of the dumb questions his son would ask about cosmetics. He told him things would come to him in time… But they never did.

Did he have to behave like them? Was success in the mask that his father wore? Did he have to fake everything to the world like they had? They became something else in the presence of others. Their lives seemed to vanish into thin air. The slander and deceit that sat in their mouth, rotting away their existence seemed to fade, and fake smiles would take their places.

If that was the way things came down to- the true failures and the false successors, he would have to choose a side, and refused to fail this time. He would hide his shame from the world, and it would be concealed by new found pride.

He flicked out a thick knife from his pocket, taking a good, long stare at that name. It was a name that he had lived under and abided by. It was a name that brought him where he was now- on his knees and desperately seeking redemption.

He had worked with the mob before. As his father had told him, "_Always keep side operations_." He had helped in small drug deals and things of the sort, but never before had he gotten real dirty. Still, he could taste the scum in his mouth, and he knew that he could not just discount the success he had in such a small venue. Could he do more?

He slammed a hefty fist into his father's coffin, but it bore no results. Again. A small crack struck the edge. It was there that he planted the blade, sawing along it for about twenty minutes. He had created a head-shaped sort of thing, and by the black material, it sure was shiny. The sight of his new creation caught his old fascination of masks, how he'd always imagined his parents slipping their own on and off for the public eye.

He would have to refine it, seeing as the stone was cracked and roughed up around the edges, but it would be perfect. He held it over his face for a moment, feeling a refreshing security beneath the darkness of this new being. Just like that crazy Bat freak. No, he would be different.

… He would be Black Mask.

++

Another ink blot. After another. After another. After… Oh! What a surprise! Another ink blot! In a sense, they were pretty interesting pieces of failed artwork. Deep within the smudged pieces of paper, The Joker could see the hidden beauty.

The psychiatrist's newly manicured hand (_my! What a tacky shade of pink..._) flipped up another card, revealing some more splotches.

"Batman," he blurted out, sitting upside down on his room's cot. It wasn't very cushioned, but at least doing ink blots in reverse was a fun thing.

She slipped out another, a whirring sound ringing out as it flung out from its place in the laminated stack. He squinted his dark eyes for a moment, thick make up no longer there to conceal his creepishly handsome features. "Batmobile," he cackled at his name for the "Tumbler", his head swaying back and forth in mirth.

"Um… Is that _all_ you can see?" his therapist replied sheepishly. She was a young thing, straight out of whatever pompous school spat her over here. He supposed she must have been from New York or Jersey by the way she talked. He wasn't one for stereotypes, but seriously, her accent was pretty thick.

He studied the page for a moment. The woman obviously wanted more, and she was dreadfully average at this job. He might as well make the most of it. "Well, well, now… Let's see," he hummed a soft tune, focusing in on the blurs of black. "That figure in the corner resembles a certain Harleen Quinzel I know," he piped, taking note of her shiny gold name tag.

Ms. Quinzel almost seemed to glow. Was everything all right with this chick? "I see," she mumbled as professionally as she could. The noise her pen was making was a bit entertaining as she hastily scrawled some notes onto her lined paper. The Joker rearranged himself, sitting upright once more.

It had been a long, boring evening that could have drawled on far too long had he not declared that her distant form was in the blot somewhere. In two of the sheets, he saw a knife snipping off someone's skin, but all of the others had something to do with the Bat… or so he thought. Ms. Quinzel was growing less and less patient with him. She had been searching for something deeper in him- something that would properly pinpoint the reason for his madness. All she had achieved so far was verifying the object of his obsession. A disturbing obsession, it was (_Don't mind me- I've just fallen head over my tippy toes! HEEHEEHA!_).

"We're done for the day," she smiled warmly. It was odd, that such a small girl would be so pleasant around him. Still, a smile was nice to see, even if it came from some of the most obnoxious people. A smile meant that people were seeing the pieces of the world that he saw- the jokes. That was all the world really was, after all!

She slipped out the side, flashing him another grin before the metal reinforced door clicked shut. Even then, he could see the girl's round, blue eyes and blonde bob peeking out at him from the small window at the top.

At least _somebody_ knew he was worth it. He was the only one with sense around this place, anyway!

'_Note to self:'_

Little girls are fun to simply toy with until the real madness begins. Come out, come out wherever you are, Bats. A padded cell gets lonely…

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

"_Um… Was that a cat fight?" Yup. What? It happens! I saw one in real life… Scary. As. Crap. O.O Anybody catch the "consumer driven lives" thing? Haha. A reference to "10 Things I Hate about You," another Ledger movie (a funny one, at that). Wow (speaking of 10). I'm still shocked at the number ten, haha. I actually got to a chapter with double digits! Review, review, review! Thanks so much for making this possible!_

_Fanart Requests for this Chapter:_

_- _Joker sitting on the floor in thought with a dead Michelle on the bed behind him.

- A disfigured Circe screaming at a shocked Roman with everyone watching

- Catwoman pulling Talia's ponytail

- Roman/Black Mask carving the mask

- Joker upside down on his cot in a straight jacket looking at Harleen whom is holding up ink blots


	11. The King Pin Meets the Clown Prince

_**King Pin Meets the Clown Prince**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you feel like barfing, move past this story! 'Cuz you ain't barfin' on mah page!

**Ch. Summary: **Mess with the mob, you get the cuffs.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –cries like a baby- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening: **"Disappear" by Anberlin **THEN** "The Scene and Herd" by Relient K

**Notes:** Songs- First for the all of the segments before, then use the second for when Roman goes to Arkham, and so forth. This is the most difficult pairing I've ever dealt with. I mean, it'd be so much easier for me to just stick to other pairings I like- such as Bruce and Silver. Still, things are clearing up in my head, and my wheels are turning. The dynamics necessary for this pair are starting to come into play in my lil' ol' brain, and it's making a heck of a lot more sense to me. Review, review, REVIEW!!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

What a lovely name. Every time he said it, he couldn't help but pass a coquettish smile on that dubious face. "Good evening, Miss Harley Quinn," he would greet her every morning with a sing-song voice. Harley Quinn was so much more pleasant than Harleen Quinzel. It reminded him of a harlequin girl. He could see the paint on her face- the scars on her lips. Sure, she was a pretty thing, but there was nothing beyond what he had already seen in all of the others.

He knew how to butter a doll up. She, in turn, was obviously intrigued by his strange charm. All of his stories were so alluring. He spoke of his father as an abusive drunk, and his mother was a wounded runaway. Lies. She didn't know it, but he knew that such playful deceit would benefit him in the end.

"You don't belong in here," Miss Quinn would sympathize with him. She had also escaped an abusive father, and she knew the pain. He would treat her like a moron, and she would sit there, thinking of all of the possible ways she could break him when he wasn't aware… But she never did.

The Joker, or Mr. J, as she referred to him, had shown her that freedom from such a mundane life was possible. She had always been a doormat for people, and rather than being the therapist for _him_, it was he that began to mentor her. It took about a month for him to completely wrap her around his finger. She was awfully gullible, more so than any other person in Arkham. He was almost shocked, really. No one else had given into his tricks so easily, and toying with this tart was far too much fun to just kill her. That would be a waste. She would do anything for him!

He was so brilliant. There was so much he could teach her. He had introduced her to a world that she had been too fearful to touch. Harley had kept her mouth quiet for so long- allowed herself to be pushed around, and now she found her self sucked into the manipulation of this madman before her. All she needed was one source to follow, and Joker was sure that he could be that pivot in her life- keeping her down on the tracks that only he wanted her to follow. She would always be Harley, but he could her his _own_ kind of Harley.

He was sure, as days went by, that accompanied by her own life, he was driving her into madness.

++

There wasn't a new face in the room. Not a single one of these men he didn't recognize. At least they were people he had worked with before, and he knew that he could trust them… somewhat.

"Quiet down, boys," he called out in a gruff voice underneath that heavy mask. A hush fell over the orange-hued room. Just a few, dim candles were there to light it. That old shack didn't have a whole lot of space to move in, and it lacked electricity, but it would have to do. Roman was no stranger to weathering this old place when he needed it. Still, this was his first, serious operation.

He eyed each man, mostly those in the first row. He could see it in their faces. They were all ready to get down to business. "I know you're all used to the usual," he said, "with the drugs and such, but this is a hell of a lot bigger than that."

He tossed an array of eerie masks to the crowd- some white, others gray or brown, but none were black. That was _his_ color, damn it. They were ones he had collected over the years. He had always been very fond of them. "From now on, I don't want to see a single one of you in here without one on," he commanded. None of them seemed to have a problem with it, although a few hesitated.

One man stood amidst the mob, his ugly mug in clear sight. Black Mask stepped down from his post, his sleek shoes crunching along the dirt. The man looked rather nervous as the other approached. He obviously wasn't happy, regardless of the black that consumed his face. "You got a problem with it?" he growled.

"No, there just ain't anymore," the man complained, expecting to be fairly compensated for his troubles.

"Oh… Well, too bad for you," he sighed, lifting a small pistol to the man's head.

_BANG!_

The shot stung everyone's ears. A small stream of blood shot out, just as the bullet hid. The man in the leather jacket collapsed to the floor- dead.

Black Mask rubbed some of the red that had gotten on his gloved finger off with a tissue from his pocket, eyes chasing away any that dared to stare into them. He was hollow. "Any other complaints?" he asked, a small sense of relief penetrating his stress when no one responded.

"Good."

++

The night sky shone in from the windows, and air was too few. Bruce loosened his tie, eagerly prepared to retire for the night and get back to his late night investigation. A few, new proposals had kept him up. They were pretty mandatory things, so Lucius, rather than take on the responsibility all by himself, suggested that his boss take a careful look at them himself. Some terms on the paper could have easily been misinterpreted if everything had been communicated without the papers.

They were pretty complex things, and Bruce still wasn't too sure how he felt about the latter. He picked the stack up, arranging the papers as evenly as he could. Compared to the concerns he had for his business, the concerns Mr. Wayne held for his city were the size of mountains. Each thought ran rampant through his mind, making his worries that much greater. It was truly amazing that he had yet to collapse from the stress. Lucky for him, Lucius took care of the business in a style that was far more than Bruce could have asked for.

He slipped the papers in a manila folder, then pulling his jacket off of the chair behind him and slinging it over his shoulder. There was nothing else to do here, but there was plenty he could accomplish out _there_- where the world was turning without him. He looked over the desk for a moment, making sure that Lucius would find it tidy upon his return.

A floorboard a few feet ahead creaked. Bruce was immediately drawn to the sudden obstruction from his thought, and noticed a large shadow looming in the doorway.

"Who's there?" Bruce asked, his voice calm and unshaken. He had been through enough to be prepared for any sort of random situation… kind of like this.

The voice growled out from the shadows. "An old friend," it said.

Bruce pursed his lips at the lack of a sufficient response. "I guess a better question would be: _why_ are you here?"

The mysterious man stepped forth, and his being almost seemed to materialize within the light. He was a tall man, around six foot three or so, and he wore a nice, black, pin-stripe suit. The man had a black mask over his face- one that fell back, covering the top of his head also. Every bit of him was shrouded in black material. This didn't look too good in Bruce's eyes. In fact, it probably wouldn't have looked very good in anyone else's either.

The man raised a pistol, aiming it inhibitedly at the billionaire. The metal glowed in the dim lights, threatening his life every moment it hung suspended in the air. Bruce felt his body tighten up. It wasn't like he hadn't seen this coming.

"Goodbye, Bruce."

_BANG!_

Bruce dropped his weight to the floor, rolling away from the possible harm. Roman noticed the other man on the floor and aimed his gun at him once again. Bruce lunged his body forth, wrapping his brawny arms around Black Mask's legs, and the two toppled down onto the black carpeting.

Bruce could feel his heart racing. He had to get the gun away from him quickly. He reached his hand upward, slamming a hard fist down on Black Mask's wrist. The other man growled in agony, releasing the pistol from his grasp. Bruce slapped it away but not without consequence.

A large fist slammed into his face, and pain branched out from all corners of his right cheek bone. It wasn't like he hadn't been assaulted before. The mask-less Batman retaliated far more quickly than Roman had expected, elbowing him in stomach. Black Mask gasped, sputtering as he sat back up.

Bruce grasped his throat, slamming him back down to the floor. Roman felt the air knocked straight out of him, and for moments after he was stunned. His sight became bleary, and the image of Bruce was slowly swelling into nothing more than fuzz. It wasn't like Roman hadn't had the power to attack Bruce and take him down, but he had honestly not been expecting such from the other man. Where had Bruce gotten this strength and skill from? Was he… hiding something?

The last thing he remembered were cold, brand new cuffs linked around his wrists, and the blaring blue and red lights of the cop cars. His exhaustion got the best of him- then there was nothing.

………………..

………………..

Lucius Fox approached the building, the words "Wayne Enterprises" reduced to a faded glow. Cop cars and ambulances surrounded the area, and plenty of noise and clamor aided the fiasco. Bruce had called, and had told him that there had been an arrest at the office. Without any other explanation, Lucius was out the door. He couldn't help but wonder if it was one of their own employees. That new chemist, Miss Blazedale, had seemed suspicious from the start.

There was Bruce- hair a mess and tie off kilter. "What happened here?" Lucius asked, suspecting that Bruce must have done _something_ as the Batman. It was in the boy's nature.

Bruce stepped away from messes of bodies in zip-up bags. There was a swarm of men behind him, all in shock and awe at the unfortunate losses. "The mob, Lucius. They're coming after me. Apparently, Roman didn't like my business choices… And now, more lives had to be lost," the billionaire shook his head, narrowing his vision down to his slacks.

"He would've killed someone sooner or later, Mr. Wayne- whether it was now or later," he reassured him. "The man was never one to mince feelings, that's for sure."

Bruce and Lucius spent the following day going over recordings. Apparently, all of the men had worn masks that night, each gagging the guards and assistants to keep the noise down, then slitting their throats. There were so many of them, all swarming up the stairs person by person. He couldn't tell whether some were women or not. All of their clothing was far too bulky.

The papers were calling the new group "The False Face Society." At least they didn't go with "The Masked Bunch," which Bruce suspected would be the result, seeing as they never seemed to ponder upon the names much. He had lost around fifteen employees that night. He was thankful that the Joker hadn't managed to escape, seeing as his hands were full at the moment, investigating Roman's cause.

"I believe you might want to see this, sir," Alfred piped in one bright and early morning, interrupting a vital discussion between Mr. Fox and Mr. Wayne. His wrinkled hand reached out, the morning paper dangling from his fingertips. Bruce grabbed the gray sheets, bringing them to his face.

Lucius watched Bruce's expression contort as he read the bold print:

**BLACK MASK GOES TO ARKHAM**

Black Mask… Clever.

++

Roman wanted all to know who he was when he wore that mask. Even the press now knew the alias he had created for himself, and it never ceased to generate quite the buzz. As simple as it was, the name just suited him. That was the man he became whenever he dawned that black covering.

They had discovered what he'd done to his parents, the criminal escapades of his past, and about his newest plans and successes. The countless charges of treason, drug dealing, and murder were all stacking up against him.

He had never once considered himself insane. Violent? Bitter? Maybe. Insane? No. His lawyer had explained to him before the trial that his best chance out of this one was to plead the case of insanity. A padded cell or the possibility of death row? Roman didn't like the sound of either.

It hurt his pride- damaged the man's ego. He didn't like someone just labeling him like any other loon. He knew what he was doing! He was fully aware!

"Listen. It's just a _legal_ term," the other interjected, continuing on to compare the consequences if he chose to keep his pride and die or if he let it go and lived. Roman wasn't a moron, so he chose life. Life as a crazy person locked up in a padded cell with his arms bound by a straight jacket.

First was registration at the desk. It felt like high school all over again. Except, unlike high school, instead of classes, he would have therapy sessions, and he wasn't going to have any fun. The meek old woman at the desk wrote his name up, smiled sheepishly, and passed him along.

Second was the physical. They'd give him a good check up to make sure he wasn't dying of some random disease, or so they said. Personally, Roman just thought they were nosy little bastards. A pleasant old man in white garbs brought him into a waiting room, sat him down on a green cushion, and left.

_CLICK!_

The door shut behind him, and all that was left was silence. He enjoyed it for the moment. He was used to so much noise- so much commotion. Everybody wanted something from him, and therefore everybody always had something "important" to say to him. He was tired of the crap.

"Ahhh… So _you're_ the new kid," came a creepish voice, crawling up Roman's spine like an over-sized beetle. Roman traced the voice back to its owner. There he was, just a few chairs away. That mass-murdering psychopath that had decided to share his screwed-up mug with the world. The clown had been plastered on his television screen so many times. They couldn't get enough of him on GNN. But here… even without his makeup, he still didn't seem human.

"Y'know, just- just a quick little tip," the creature leaned over, tongue running over his lips , leaving poisonous traces of thin saliva on his mouth, "When the doc says drop your pants, he doesn't mean your boxers too. Then, you'll be in for more than you want." The green-haired freak exploded into a fit of giggles at his joke, rocking back and forth in his stainless, white straight jacket.

Roman stared the Joker down, eyes burning holes through the smaller male. He didn't say a word or grit his teeth- just held a straight face as he had his whole life.

It couldn't have been a stranger situation, and their personalities couldn't have been any more different. Roman was ticked off that he had just been left in there with some crazy buffoon making raunchy jokes. There had to be surveillance cameras somewhere. There _better_ have been.

The Joker's laughter subsided, and he returned to grinning devilishly at the other male in the small, contained room. "So- you're just another crazy person in a mask, hm?" he asked, eyes flashing of something evil.

Roman sighed. "You know, you and I are _different_. I have actually have _reason_," he stated coolly, keeping his outer appearance calm and collected. He wouldn't let this psycho catch him sweat- at least not any time soon.

"And that's where you find your problem," the Joker smiled contentedly, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman… Things never go exactly as they were planned. _Never_." That damn tongue lid out again, inching out of his mouth like a snake.

Romans stayed silent, listening in on the remainder of the madman's rant. "Regardless of how things play out in your head, they'll always be different- even if it's in the smallest of ways. You have to be able to think on your feet if something _unexpected_ should happen," the man with bound arms shut his eyes, seeming to almost fall into some sort of stupor.

"Roman Sionis?" the doctor opened the door to his office, peeking a long and narrow head out.

Roman stood up, approaching the door with prideful steps. He was startled when the unsettling voice rose once more.

"Just remember what I said," it called over. Roman turned for a moment, noticing how the makeup-less clown still sat with his eyes closed, permanent smile still eerily shining up at him. Roman wasn't sure how he liked this. Whether or not it could be of any aid to him in the future, he would have to decide for himself.

………………..

………………..

He always found _something_ to entertain himself. Sometimes this meant pulling up a leg or two and slamming his feet against the wall, bothering the facility until some dumb Joe Schmo came in and checked up on him. Other times, he would just sit up in the corner of his room, thinking heavily upon matters most would dismiss.

Some would have considered it obsessive compulsive, but every thought that crept into the Joker's mind, he had to give special attention to and mull over. These thoughts always came in handy for later, whether it be with a joke or a kill- whenever the time was right, it was put to use.

Now was one of those moments, he found himself in the corner, just as he had when he was a child, thinking heavily upon all sorts of matter. The thought for right now was- white. Could it even really be considered a color? It's not clear, so it has to have some sort of pigment. Speaking of white, he could really use some his makeup (_'scuze me as I just powder my nose, HEHEH_).

Something snapped his train of thought, and a figure crept into his room. Visiting hours were over (_did I ever have visitors? Hmm?_), and everyone should have been gone. If he was correct, he was going to like whatever it was that was about to occur.

"Mistah J?" came that thick New Yorker accent, if that was even where she came from in the first place. The lights in his room flickered on, revealing a harlequin girl in plain sight. It was Harley. She had thick, black diamonds over each eye and a black, painted-on, and smeared smile over a powdery white face. Her blonde bangs fell out from under a limp jester's hat in colors of black and red. She had a red collar around her neck, and beneath that a black and red v-neck shirt with long sleeves that fell over black gloves. Her pants were alternating black and red from her top over a pair of black slip-ons.

"Well, what do we have _here_?" he purred, watching her turn all sorts of shades of red underneath all of that makeup.

She crept in the room, trying as best as she could to keep the noise down. "We're getting you out of here," she said. "I'm sorry, but you do _not_ deserve to be in here for the end of your days, and I was hoping-" she stopped, cupping her hands together.

"_Yes?_"

"Well… I was hoping I could come with you when this is all said and done," she shrugged, praying that he would at least consider her. Sure, most would say she was crazy, but she knew she was in love. She wouldn't tell him that, though- at least not yet… But she was sure that he was capable of loving her back if he tried. Harley could have just gone home that night, but the thought of Joker sitting in that padded cell and all of the horrible things he had endured in his life, she couldn't. He had found freedom from that life, and she wanted to see it too. She was tired of being other people walk all over her.

The Joker wouldn't pass people up if they were willing to be his puppets. He never killed someone that could play an important, humorous part in his life. There was just too much to do, so much to see. And Harley would be there to see it all too.

………………..

………………..

Roman Sionis slouched down into the thick, cotton sheets, irritated by the sight of too much white. He was still pissed about what had happened, and he was still holding onto his grudge against Bruce Wayne. That son of a bitch got away with far more than any human being should. Half of the things Bruce did, Roman was pretty sure he did just to piss other people off. People like _him_.

The lights were out now, and all was silent. He was left with nothing but his thoughts. It was a horrible feeling, and he didn't see how putting a crazy person into a bleach white cell alone to talk to himself was going to make anything better. Idiots.

He took in the stale air, nostrils flaring with the motion. His dark eyes flickered in the darkness, and even his mind fell silent for the time being. Maybe this wasn't the worst of places. It was quiet and there were no morons to parade through and bother him. No phone calls. No work. No Bruce Wayne.

He smiled. For once, he smiled. He wasn't necessarily happy, but he was content. He was still pissed off, of course, but for now he could feel relaxed and think about other things worthy of his time. This didn't mean he didn't wanted out, no. He had to get out. He had to finish the job he had set out to do in the first place.

Out of no where the door slammed open, alarms ringing everywhere and people running manic. "Wakey, wakey, Mr. Sionis. It's time for a good dose of freedom," guffawed an oddly familiar voice. The lights shot on to reveal the Joker- dawning his original face paint and clothing.

Roman smirked up at the freak, surprisingly pleased by the tampered face.

Looks like he would get his revenge sooner than later.

'_Note to self:'_

Sometimes salt needs good pepper, even if that pepper is a girl you don't particularly care for. Cheers, Harley!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_This chapter jumped around a lot, I know. XD Sorry. Anyway, there is someone whose really long, informative reviews I am missing (sad face). That's okay, I know things are getting pretty hectic.-in a high, screechy voice- REVIEEWW!! Also, my "Nolan-ized" Harley Quinn is inspired by this (remember to take out the spaces and add an extra "/" after the "http"!):_

http : / j oshwm c.devia ntart. co m/art/Harley-Quinn-No-Innocence-87613447

_The art belongs to joshwmc, and he doesn't support this story, so don't bug him! Hah. Neither the idea nor the art belong to me. Onto other things, a couple of you wanted to see MsMeow's artwork for my story! :) Here it is:_

http : / i142.photobuck et.c om/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/JackGiftbyMsMeow.png?t1220832922

http : / i142.photobucket. c om/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/applyingscars.png?t1220832966

http : / i142.photobucket .co m/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/dressonfire.png?t1220833039

http : / i142.photobucket .co m/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/heycupcake.png?t1220833076

http : / i142.photobucke t. co m/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/lipsequal.png?t1220833101

_Thanks again, MsMeow! :3_

_Fanart Requests for this Chapter:_

- Black Mask shooting the maskless man amidst a masked crowd in the shack.

- Black Mask and Bruce struggling on the office floor for the gun (it's not sexual, so keep that in mind).

- Lucius and Bruce talking outside of Wayne Enterprises with police and ambulances everywhere.

- Joker leaning over in his chair (in a straight jacket) laughing with an irritated Roman.

- Bird's eye view of Joker's cell with him in the corner with his head down, thinking.

- Joker busting into Roman's cell, Harley leaning over his shoulder with a grin, and ruckus behind them.


	12. Bitter Jealousy in Thee

_**Bitter Jealousy in Thee**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you feel like punching me, just walk away.

**Ch. Summary: **You don't always get what you want. The Joker's had his time and learned plenty… But he also knows that you can get pretty damn close.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –oh, no, Mr. Bill!- And neither is Mr. Bill, heh. The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening: **"Younglife" by Anberlin **THEN** "Guide My Soul" by LIGHTS

**Notes:** You guys better be listening to songs I put up! Haha. They create a good feel and atmosphere, I think. Songs- first for Bruce's reminiscing, and then the second for when Silver comes. I suggest IMEEM for finding this stuff. Oh, my goodness! I never expected to get this far, but I know I'm going to finish now! I'm really excited. I'm actually going to finish, hah. Roman's not here, I know, but this is all planned out, so although he may be going "poof" for now, he's still playing a major role. As you can see, I'm not just going into Joker's past. :) Should I tweak the story summary to be a bit more telling? This story is still Joker-centered, but I have a lot to tell about Bruce before I return to mainly his P.O.V. Thank you again to MsMeow for surrealistically amazing art! This one's kind of short compared to the usual. PLEASE REVIEW!!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

Bruce had lost any kind of sympathy he may have ever had for Roman. He had known what it felt like to lose his parents, and therefore believed that he and the Sionis boy held a bond, but little did he know, the most unsuspected of people had done the deed. Roman had lit his parents on fire, and he had put them six feet under by his own will.

Bruce couldn't stand murderers. If a life didn't have to be taken by nature, then why did it have to be taken at all? Life itself already took enough of a toll on people, and it angered him that there were those people out there trying to make life harder for others in order for themselves to enjoy it. That was why he _hated_ that bastard in the paint so much.

He could remember a young friend of his that he had grown close to at Princeton. It was freshman year, and he had just found his dorm room. The place was in pretty tip-top shape. Well, his half was anyway.

There was a young, blonde man standing by the window, sliding open the top in order for more light to come in. He was wearing an untucked, white button-up shirt and a loosened black tie. Clothes were strewn out along his side of the room, and each of his suitcases were hanging open. Soap bottles sat in the corner, each resting on its side.

The man turned around, greeting his new roommate with a cat-like grin. "Hey, man," he said, his voice light and cheery. "The name's Wiley," he said, leaning forward and offering a fist for Bruce to pound, but it wasn't exactly his taste.

Bruce set his luggage down, eyeing the fist and dismissing it. "Bruce Wayne," he muttered. He was so used to moving from one place to another- distancing himself from people so that he wouldn't have to deal with the pain when he departed. Honestly, he hadn't really wanted to go to Princeton, but Alfred had told him that, regardless how rich you are, a proper education is always necessary.

Wiley noticed Bruce's reluctance to respond and therefore removed his hand from obligation. "So, you're a Wayne. I'm sorry about your parents," he bit his lower lip, hoping that Bruce would at least respect that sentiment.

"Yeah," Bruce sighed, throwing his bags on his bed and unzipping each one. Bruce sat down on his bed, pulling out a picture with a thick, black frame out from within a tan bag. He studied it- the faces of his mother and father glowing with pride as their young boy stood before them, grinning back at the camera lens. His mother was wearing her favorite pearls that day- the ones that father had gifted to her as just a small token of his affection.

"Catch!" Wiley shouted, gobbling up Bruce's lost attention. He sat down the photograph just in time to catch an aluminum can labeled "Root Beer."

"The real stuff's nasty. I don't mind some wine, but beer-" Wiley shuddered. He flicked open his own can and began taking heavy swigs of the stuff. Bruce started down at the can in his hands and decided, for once, to just let it go and relax. He opened his own and took a few, small sips. He appeared far more conscious of his demeanor than Wiley whom was laid back and messily allowing drips of dark liquid to trail down his neck. He noticed this and wiped it away.

The two of them sat and talked for a while, and Bruce actually found himself able to lighten up. Wiley was just so carefree, and no matter what Bruce did, he wasn't able to get Wiley to hate him or grow tired of him. In fact, Bruce _wanted_ Wiley to like him because Wiley was just that great of guy. Deep down, Bruce knew he wasn't a good person, but deep down, he knew Wiley was.

Days went by, and the two grew close. At least it was closer than Bruce had been to anyone in a long time. One night, the conversation went on to the subject of fear. Somehow, they had wound up talking about what irked them most about the world and what got to them- what gave them nightmares. They were sitting on the floor with a large pizza, huddled around the box and talking in barely audible murmurs. It curfew, so the boys had to quiet down. Bruce had talked about the strange fear of bats that had become him around the time of his parents' death.

"Well… I guess what made me so scared of Chihuahuas was the fact that all of my ex girlfriends had one, and they all wound up biting me sooner or later. Speaking of ex girlfriends, I think that's another thing for me on the 'fear' list," Wiley's soft voice wavered, and his brown eyes enlarged as each girl's face passed through his wandering thoughts.

Bruce muffled some laughter in the back of his throat, and he found himself suppressing a very mild case of "the giggles", in a less girly sense of the term. "I've never had a real girlfriend. Still, there's this girl. Her name's Rachel," he said.

Wiley noticed his companion's eyes glaze over, and Bruce seemed to fall into a sort of daydream. The room disappeared around him, creating a vast sea of pieces that could all create her eyes, her nose, and her mouth. Wiley could tell that there was something special about this girl.

Bruce obviously had a lot on his mind, and his new roommate could see it in his face- the way his nostrils flared, his eyes flashed, and his mouth clenched. Wiley thought the better of curfew and decided to flip it the bird, just as he had with most rules. Sure, some could consider it his fault, but others could consider it to his advantage. Perhaps it gave him guts? It was all in another's eyes.

"Hey, why don't we get the hell out of this place, eh?" he smiled sideways at his new pal. Bruce gave him an odd look in return.

"You know, I don't think that's a good idea," he said in a distant murmur, quickly dusting the idea off of his back.

Wiley stood up, dragging Bruce up by the wrist. "Oh, come ON! The night is young, my friend," he chuckled, making a vast motion at the window with his arms. He then let go of the dark-haired male, approaching the window swiftly and undoing the latch that kept it shut. He began nudging his way out, sitting hunched over in the frame.

"Just do as I do," he said, and with that his feet began to launch his entire being towards a near-by tree. He was able to grab onto a branch and swing himself towards the ground, but not without a minor injury.

Bruce shook his head in disapproval, but he eventually gave in and he too was soon on the pavement beneath. Wiley was hissing and touching his hand gingerly. There was a wood chip sticking all the way up his palm that had wedged itself underneath a thin layer of skin. "Ah, damn!" he growled. Bruce hushed him. They had to keep it down if they didn't want to get caught.

Bruce took Wiley's hand, and studied the wound. There was just a bit of blood coming up, and the tree bark was in pretty deep. He firmly took hold of the dark, brown piece and slid it out between the layers of skin. It came out smoothly, although Wiley did mewl mildly at the uncomfortable feel.

He tossed the wooden chunk to the ground and took time go study the worst of the wound. The skin had now settled back onto his hand, and small clusters of dirt were forming at the bottom of his palm. "We should get some antiseptic, water, bandages, just whatever it takes," he said, stirring and raising his hand to ask Wiley to follow.

"Sure," the blonde soughed.

The two boys traveled across campus and eventually reach their destination- the cafeteria. "Why here?" Wiley asked as he examined his surroundings. It was well kept, but the lights were shut off. Bruce pulled out a pin and began to pick the lock.

"The nurse's area is in the main office, and I'm guessing that somebody's probably still finishing stuff up in there," he concluded. The door swung open, and Bruce held the door open for Wiley who stepped inside before him.

They curved around the front tables towards the back where the main counter was. Bruce went around and through the side while Wiley took the liberty upon himself to just hop on top of the counter and slide his way across. He landed with steady feet on the ground, and Bruce, with a damp paper towel in hand, began to dab his wound.

Wiley quivered under his touch. "Geeze, man! Your hands feel like sandpaper," he teased as he examined the callused fingers that held his own.

"Well, when you join almost every sports team in high school, it just kind of happens," Bruce laughed, wiping some dirt softly off of his company's palm. He drew a line with the damp cloth in his hand, sweeping away anything that could potentially cause an infection. Wiley gazed up into Bruce's eyes. The light brown connected deeply with the dark, and a fulmination collapsed within Bruce's being when he noticed Wiley's eyes matching up with his own.

There was something about that stare that froze him and kept him in raptures- and he didn't like it. Wiley almost seemed to lean in, his face closing in on the other before it. Bruce wouldn't let something so trivial and inappropriate move him to do anything stupid. He immediately yanked himself away from the situation and tossed the paper towel into a nearby trashcan coated in rust.

"I think you're good," Bruce growled. Wiley peered up at the other man and felt his heart rise up into his throat. He had just made an utter fool out of himself.

… And now Bruce didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

++

"Master Bruce," Alfred called out rather cordially as he always had when company arrived. "Miss St. Cloud has come for ye'," he smiled warmly, and Bruce's memories soon faded to cinder. The white-haired girl walked in with her head held high and composed, as usual. She was sporting a blue button-up blouse and a pair of black leggings underneath a blue jean skirt.

Bruce couldn't help but love the sight of non-formal personnel entering his penthouse with such sangfroid. It couldn't have looked any better on anyone else but _her_ either.

"Hello, Bruce," she said coolly, loose and friendly unlike Ms. Kyle whom had always seemed to speak with a far more seductive tone.

"Hello, Silver," Bruce said, still sitting comfortably on the couch.

She advanced towards him and took a seat. "Do you want to meet for lunch sometime this week? I mean, maybe not as a date," she chuckled, dusting off the idea of a romance for now. With where his life was at, he probably didn't have any real time for her anyways.

"Sounds good to me," he grinned. The smile quickly faded, dissipating into faint memories of their past, whatever was left of it. "Do you think," he whispered quietly, "that we could ever be together?"

He was tired of the "Rachel" situation. Because of who he was on the inside, every woman had to run and hide for cover. No one could take it, and most people he couldn't even trust. If they did trust him, someone would always be out to get them. Would Silver ever know? Could he ever tell her? She appeared to be a trustworthy person, but appearances could be deceiving. He would have to keep his mouth shut for now.

Silver stared away from him, and the world around her disappeared. "I don't know, Bruce. Maybe someday," she sighed and stood up once more.

As she stepped away in a pair of black converse, Bruce cried out to her, "I'll call you!" She turned back to view him. He looked so desperate and alone there, black suit dulled out by the coal leather behind him.

"I know," she smirked, continuing out towards the elevator. Once again, she was gone from him. If he could keep Silver close to him- if he could keep Silver alive- then maybe, for once, something would actually work out for him. Perhaps he had a chance at happiness?

Silver rushed through the lobby and hobbled out through the courtyard. She was late for a meeting with another friend, as much as she would have loved to stay and chat with Bruce. He was definitely good company, and it was rare when she met a man with his status that refrained from associating himself with the word "pig" and all of its definitions.

Her driver pulled up, revealing a limousine. A young woman with blonde hair tucked up into her black cap came out and opened the door for her. "Compliments of Mr. Wayne," she said in a rather lovable voice.

"It couldn't hurt," Silver smiled, hopping into the car like it was nothing. He was a gentleman… She just hoped that there was sincerity behind his intentions. She was pretty sure, for the most part. The female driver shut her inside.

The doors all locked immediately, startling the snowy haired woman. A shock was sent throughout her system, and smoke clouded her vision until all around her was nothing but smears of light and color. A dark voice entered into her conscious, "Wrong you are, sweetheart."

With fading vision, Silver saw nothing but a ghastly face, two glaring black eyes, and a horrendously large, red grin.

'_Note to self:'_

Bats use sound waves that are too high pitch for most human ears, but I, for one, am _always listening…_

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_I got the bark/splinter thing from something that happened to me when I was little, except I got it from sliding my hand along a wooden bench, haha. I do use a lot of Anberlin, and I know I'm going to continue to use them because they have a song for everything, hah. I kind of based Wiley off of Max from Across the Universe (just a wee bit- a more pissy Jude and a non-alcoholic Max! WHEE!), but not physically. You'll figure out more about Wiley's appearance later. Since I am being so vague, if you're going to do art of Wiley, I'll message you what he looks like because it's kind of special (heheh). There will be more Wiley stories later… Anyway, on a totally random side note, a friend of mine mentioned that Leonardo Dicaprio has the voice potential and face to be the next Joker, and I was like, "OKAY, YOU CAN SHUT UP NOW!" (okay, so I'm not that mean) But… Now that I think about it, it's kind of true. Who knows if he has the ACTING potential, though. That's my main problem. /rant_

_Fanart Requests for this Chapter:_

- Wiley and Bruce sitting on their dorm's floor on either side of a pizza box, laughing.

- Bruce fixing Wiley's wound, and Wiley fixing his eyes on Bruce.

- Silver in the casual outfit I described, talking to Bruce warmly with a smile.

- Harley driving a limousine with a devious grin in a driver's suit.

- Silver fainting in the car with thick smoke and the Joker grinning evilly through a haze.


	13. Thy Lady in Thee Hands

_**Thy Lady in Thee Hands**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later (with current sexual undertones).

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you're thinking, "Wow. That's disgusting!" You should probably leave.

**Ch. Summary: **In the Joker's eyes, a secret found is a secret kept… Unless that secret can be used to your advantage.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. -weepy- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening: **"The Small Print" by Muse (THANK YOU KakaItaSasu! Oh, my goodness- it's so perfect! Muse FTW!) **THEN** "Like You" by Evanescence

**Notes:** Songs- first for the first section, then when it hits the second with Batman, play the second song. I finally get to focus back on the Clown Prince of Crime! That took long enough, hah. I just hope you guys understand that I had to flesh out some other characters first. There were certain things I planned to put in the other chapter but decided the better of it and chose to do it for this chapter. You may recognize this situation from the comics. I didn't really follow it that much- just used certain circumstances and lines! I was able to find something online to get some of the lines (since I don't memorize that stuff, lol). The lines I did use, I changed a bit. Review, please! Especially if you want a good chapter that's actually inspired!

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The Joker watched as her eyes glazed over once more, only to receive fluttering spurts of life. She muttered something inaudible but the Joker assumed that it must have been along the lines of, "_Where am I?_" Amnesia would only make things that much more interesting, especially when Batman came… or should he say _Bruce_?

It wasn't very hard to figure out (_well… it's obvious really, heheh_). Kissing the Bat and kissing Wayne had been all-too similar experiences. Not to mention the fact that his distinct mouth was revealed at the bottom of that mask. It was unmistakable now- as clear as daylight. Of course, little bats prefer the night.

"Oh-oh, my gah-"

The Joker watched as the woman below him began to tremble. He simply grinned, yellow teeth signaling for panic. "Good morning there, beautiful," he taunted her, and she hastily responded- leaping to her feet with every muscle she could possibly sustain for the time being.

They were in a room. It was shabby, filled with cheap furniture and such, but it was comfortable enough. She wanted to ask where she was and how she got there, but every time she looked upon that face, Silver was caught speechless. She had seen the Joker on TV and such- but she had never in her life expected to actually run into him. Why did he even want her?

Harley Quinn sat comfortably on a chair by a cedar wood desk. Her blue eyes continued to study themselves in a mirror beside her. She was still getting used to the makeup, and she almost seemed fascinated by what she saw. Silver immediately recognized her as the driver.

"I don't understand why we have her here," Harley lamented, setting down her mirror.

The Joker gazed over at her with a proud smirk. "And you probably never will," he quipped. She was only mildly insulted and simply continued to toy with whatever she saw sitting around on the desk. He wasn't really sure how long he was going to keep her around, but she was useful for the time being. Not to mention, she had quite the appreciation for _true_ art. There was something to admire in that.

Silver noticed the other clown sitting a few feet away from her. She wasn't sure whether or not to be angry or to just feel sorry for the foolish woman for being seduced by such a maniac… Or, perhaps, this girl was insane herself? Silver knew that she could never really understand the circumstances fully.

The white-haired woman finally found the strength within her to speak. "Why are you doing this?" she weakly asked, stumbling away from him as he turned to catch her attention.

"Oh, so curious, are we? I'm sorry, but I don't kiss and tell, love," he cackled, taking heavy steps in her general direction.

Kiss and tell? What was he talking about? If she tried, maybe she could get some answers from him. Getting answers from the criminally insane did not look easy, and she believed it safe to assume that it was going to be no easier than it appeared. "Are you doing this for ransom? From Bruce Wayne?" she asked. Seeing as she had been picked up from the hotel, it was her first guess.

Ransom? Why ever so in the world would he want _money_? He was, frankly, tired of being compared to the mob (_or "money-grubbing donkeys in suits"- whichever you like, heheh_). "Now, why would I do that?" he laughed, shaking his head at her stupidity. "Money… It's such trivial thing, don't you think? You take it," he said, using his gloved hands to motion towards him, them pushing them back out, "just to give it all away. I prefer more enjoyable things. Things like _fear_. Stuff that lasts."

Silver stared at him for a moment, helpless. He appeared to respond so naturally, but it could have been a rouse just to throw her off guard. Then again, there wasn't a whole lot other to assume from him. "You're doing this for fun?" she asked another question, her lip beginning to quiver on its own power.

The Joker threw his head back once again to savor another moment of sweet mirth. "Ding! Ding! Ding! Looks like we have a winner! _Of course_ I've got another agenda, but a sweet cheeks like 'yerself doesn't need any more information than that, yes?" he tilted forward slowly, his entire being cast out of the shadow and into the chilling blue lighting creeping in through the window panes.

"I just want to know," she said, breath hitching as she got a better look at his paint-stained face, "if your plan is to- to… kill me."

The Joker whipped out a fresh knife. It was a shiny one, long and thick too. "Questions, questions, questions… _I hate questions_," he said, voice gurgling forth into a growl. "Everybody always wants to know _why_ or _how_. So I ask- why care? Why complicate it?" he let out another bubble of soft chortling.

"Let me talk to you about something, sugar," he began once more. The Joker nonchalantly approached a brown leather chair and sat down in it, relaxing himself in its comfort. "You know- please, have a seat," he interrupted himself almost immediately and gestured to a chair just a few feet away from his own. Silver took another chair instead- even further away from the other.

He cleared his throat, once again using his hands in an animated fashion to shine up his point. "It's simple math, really," his smile faded, and he began to prepare himself for some sort of a lecture. "Take a look at… 'Sack Head Man', for instance," he said, referencing the Scarecrow. "He's not crazy. He's just a braniac kid naming himself after something farmers use to scare away birds. He attempts to strike fear in people's hearts through _pharmaceuticals_. Most times, he's just a crank in a really bad suit," he smirked, his logic as clear as daylight.

"But to _those_ people- out there- I'm a full blown psychotic!" he shouted in enthusiasm. "When I walk in a room, those people pay attention. I'm sure you know what it's like, darling, when you walk into a room, and men- well, they pay attention!" his face contorted into a clever smirk as he spoke. "I get that from _everyone_."

"Life's not the same when you play by the rules. It's not… fun," Harley Quinn peeped up from her corner, still distant within her own thoughts.

Silver just stared at them for a moment. Her face sat blank, and her soft complexion immediately flushed. Did he really believe what he was saying? She blinked a few times consecutively, still deciding what to do with herself. The Joker was a wild card. She never knew what he was going to do at any moment. He could kill her, rape her, or even just let her lounge around. –And the other girl- she wasn't even sure who she was! Silver had no idea what to expect.

The Joker continued to simply play with a knife in his hand, tracing the lines idly. Something within him struck, and he peeked up at her beneath a wall of heavy, slick curls.

"… Want to know how I got these scars?"

++

Batman arrived swiftly. It took him a while in order to regain his composure earlier, seeing that, as of late, he had been overwhelmed by a slew of unwanted memories. They had been returning to him in his sleep, and they even came as he woke to the world. It was something that he couldn't help, and he doubted that it would end any time soon.

Alfred had answered a call, turning to Mr. Wayne with a most solemn expression. "The attendant downstairs would like to know if a valet service might take care of the limo when it returns," he said. Even the butler wasn't expecting it.

Bruce peeked out from behind his newspaper, "Limo?"

Something suspicious was going on, and it wasn't hard to figure out who was involved- but did the Joker know? Had he realized his secret identity? It must have been from that night at the party. If he wasn't careful, things could fall into turmoil. It seemed that everything he had worked so hard to keep in tact was now hanging on a thread- limp and ready to drop face down on the nightmare beneath it.

As he stepped inside of the building, four dead bodies- all sprawled out along the floor with their mouths cut wide open- lay in an organized row. It sickened him how someone could so easily mess with lives. Everyone deserved the chance to live and live happily, at that. He knew what it felt like to lose a loved one, and now the loved ones of these corpses on the floor would have to learn the same, dreadful news that haunted his past.

A fog enveloped him, and he found himself in the arms of his own thoughts. Once again, he was within a forgotten memory. This time, it was something he had wished would never return to haunt him.

Wiley's face cleared through the smoke, his brown eyes swirling with worry as Bruce slipped out of the dorm and away to class. The two of them had grown apart ever since that day, and Wiley didn't like that. Bruce could tell.

Wiley had been receiving detention after detention trying to scrounge for his attention. At first, it was bringing girls from other schools into their dorm and "romancing" them while he was trying to sleep, but then it went to a whole other level.

Everyday it was something new. Soon enough, Wiley was streaking through their dorm hallways and parading around in their room nude. He would get drunk, even though Bruce knew how much he actually hated beer, but he did it anyway. Wiley knew that Bruce wouldn't be able to ignore him for much longer. He wouldn't because he _couldn't_. Still, Bruce remained silent. He would win this game.

It was one Saturday morning when Bruce woke up in a state of alarm. He was straddled to the bed by two, muscled legs, and a sad face staring down at him. Wiley was sitting on top of his pelvis in nothing but boxers, his toned body slowly blurring in and out of vision as Bruce struggled to fully wake himself up.

Wiley's hands were set limply down upon his chest. They were beginning to grip at his sleep shirt as slow as molasses in January. Once it finally struck Bruce what was going on, he began to fret. Never in his life would he have allowed another man to get that close to him. How Wiley had gotten into that position without waking him was beyond Bruce.

"Wiley…" Bruce started calmly but with anger noticeably rising in his tone, "What in _hell_-"

"Bruce, I don't want to hear it," Wiley griped, pinning down the taller male's arms from attempting anything that could interfere with this "compromising" situation. "We need to talk, damn it," he said, his voice also flaring out into a cruel snarl. "Shit, man, I've been trying here! Why the hell won't you talk to me!?"

"Because of _this_! This very kind of stuff! If you keep getting into messes, Wiley, I'm not going down to your level!"

Wiley broke through his rant, "ADMIT it… You're just afraid of what you feel."

Bruce stared at his roommate for a moment in distress. It couldn't be true. He wouldn't let it be.

"_I_ _never trusted 'feelings.'_"

"For once, come on. Just let it go!"

"WILEY, I don't even know where in the hell you're going with this!"

"You know full well, and don't tell me that you haven't wanted it too."

"WHAT!?"

"FUCK, Bruce! I want to _fuck_ you!"

Bruce couldn't believe his ears. The situation- the choice of words... It was all so wrong. There had been a strange urge within him that moment to… No. He wouldn't even allow himself to think about it. The next few moments were suspenseful for Wiley. He saw something dark stir within Bruce's eyes. It was something he knew he wouldn't like.

"You're _disgusting_," Bruce grumbled. He felt Wiley's being tense up, but his hands loosened their grip, and Bruce found the leverage to shove the other off of him completely. Wiley slid awkwardly off of the bed, and he wound up colliding with the floor, his back slamming down on its surface.

The shorter male could feel a huge depression wash over him at those words. He wasn't disgusting. At least- in his mind he wasn't. He hadn't meant what he said… right?

"Bruce-!"

"DON'T… say… anything," the darker haired man spoke briskly, throwing a long coat over himself and storming out of the room. There he left Wiley sitting on the floor all alone. That would be the last time he saw him.

Later that day and deep into the night, Bruce returned to his dorm building to find Anson, another friend of Wiley's, collapsed in the hallway with a tear-soaked face. It was strange seeing brawny, muscular Anson sitting there, crying his eyes out like a baby. Something was horribly wrong.

When he finally got around to speaking with Anson, Bruce was told that Wiley had also been out for a while. He got drunk and had apparently decided to take his aggression out on the wrong people and wound up getting stabbed near the end of the fight. Wiley didn't survive... He was dead.

The guilt about everything he had said to his friend consumed him, and Bruce was brought directly back to his parents. He relived that fateful night when his own fear had brought them outside to face their certain death. Once again, Bruce was alone. He hated it, and he began to hate his time at Princeton. He studies became nothing more than pieces of wordy paper, his teachers became nothing more than nuisances, and the entire campus became nothing but a vat of bad memories.

He wished he could have said something right to Wiley. He desired to do it all over again so that he could control his tongue. If he had been with Wiley that night, that fight wouldn't have happened. He didn't have to die. Alas, life was never how he wanted it to be.

He dropped out of Princeton and solemnly returned home. He couldn't even face all of Wiley's friends and family at the funeral. It was all too much to take in at once. He would just have to return home and learn to swallow these deaths- but not after justice. It was time someone had to pay, and that person would be his parents' killer. It had all started with that man, and with him it would end.

Thinking back to that time, Bruce knew that his intentions had been wrong. The pain had been too much, and he had dealt with it the wrong way. He would have to discover the line between right and wrong, and how those murderous criminals had justified their selfish actions. He would have to learn how to think like them in order to counter them, and that was just what he would do. He had set out to discover them and himself after his infuriating encounter with Carmine Falconi.

Even to that current date, he was still discovering who the true Bruce Wayne was. He knew what he had to be. He knew Batman. He knew the morals he had to upkeep, but who was he beneath the mask? Who was he beneath the model-dating façade that he had to upkeep every day when the sun still shone?

Bruce was reawakened from his daydream. His bleary eyes cleared up to see those four bodies once again. Each face was someone who could have lived one more day had they not been in the Joker's path that morning.

Thankfully, the police had yet to be on the Joker's trail. He didn't want to have to deal with them at that moment. He didn't have the time or the patience. Gordon and he barely talked as of late. The Commissioner wasn't supposed to be talking to him, and Batman didn't want to put the poor man in a compromising situation. It seemed that he was the only one that could come remotely close to understanding him other than Alfred. Sure, Lucius was on his side, but there were times when even he _and_ Alfred gave Bruce the strangest of looks for the path he had chosen.

The masked man pressed on forward through the rancid room, the open eyes of the deceased staring emptily at him through the colors of blue, hazel, and green. He kneeled beside each of the bodies and examined their condition. Usually, the Joker gave some sort of clue as to his next victim. It wasn't hard to figure out. One body was an elderly man with ivory hair, another was a woman sporting a silver dress, the third was a man with a thick cross around his neck, and the fourth was a female in her 40s wearing a blue sweater with thick, white clouds sewn on.

"Silver," Batman breathed out raspily. He knew that the Joker had kidnapped her, but the fact that he had his sights set on ridding the world of her only sent him further into a panic. Things were set in stone now, and the Dark Knight had to figure his way through this mess.

Undoubtedly, the Joker had set up traps about the area, seeing as no men had barraged him with guns or fists yet. No, this was something deeper. Whatever the mossy-haired villain had going on here had to end soon. After losing Rachel, there was no way he would let this new woman go.

In the meantime, Joker was comfortably running a knife along Silver's cheek, humming some unrecognizable tune that never ceased to repeat itself in his perverted and knurly mind. It leapt up and dropped from reasonable heights- a quiet symphony within himself.

"Mistah J?" Harley called out from her corner, eyes twinkling at the new excitement. He turned respectively to face her. "The boys say the Bat's come," she piped.

The Joker curved his head back over to Silver, face contorting with assured evil, and the girl could feel her already queasy stomach drop. She didn't like that look. Not one bit. In fact, she didn't like that entire face at all. Whatever that dark look was, it didn't mean well for her.

'_Note to self:'_

Women are such a mysterious thing. What's even more mysterious is a wolf in sheep's clothing. _HAHAHA!_

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_Thank you people who review- I love you all! Haha. Wiley's a vulgar one, lol. I thought you all might want to know- it's getting really close. Just a few more chapters. Some of you may be confused what that means, but others will pick up on it, heheh. Also, I do think that Bruce needed something newer- something fresher- to send him back into the "Batman" mindset and drop out of college. Something to remind him of his parents. Anyway, I may be starting a Soul Calibur story, for those of you that are interested. This will most likely not entail slash (unless changed by popular demand), but it will center on Siegfried and his relationships/journey. If you know the Soul Calibur series, give me your thoughts! PLEASE! Oh, and- REVIEW!_


	14. Deepeth in Thy Mind of Sickness

_**Deepeth in Thy Mind of Sickness**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later (with current sexual undertones).

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if that just strikes you wrong in so many different ways, hit the back button.

**Ch. Summary: **Appearances can be deceiving. In Gotham, there's an extreme.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –depression and the like- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening: **"Time is Running Out" by Muse (KakaItaSasu- Um- YES. THANK YOU! Haha.)**THEN** "The Last Thing on Your Mind" by LIGHTS

**Notes:** I know this one came super late, but I have been busy as HECK! I'll try to pick up the pace, but October and November are going to be nuts for me. Review, please. :(

P.S. Konsui, I couldn't message you, and I'm not sure if you got the "review" I put on your story, but the link to the art wasn't working. It's killing me! I want to see it! -falls into depression-

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Spurts of energy grasped in and out of him, and Batman suddenly found the energy to continue forth on the journey that he had set out before himself. It was the journey to uproot this demented town of its plague. This plague of death and crime seemed it would never end, but he would end it- someday. Until then, the first thing to check off of his endless list would be the engine of destruction itself- the Joker.

Batman rushed through the empty halls. Where was he? Was it an abandoned apartment building? Or were there still tenants? "Please, no," he gasped under his gurgling breath as a heat over took him. It was not beyond the Joker to enforce such lawlessness in such a lawless town. Gotham was his playground, and he would bully anyone around if it meant his pleasure.

The caped crusader ripped through a broken door. Wood splintered everywhere, and dark, flickering lights allowed him entrance into one of the darkest of scenes. A young mother with auburn hair lay lifeless with her arms still around her crying child. Smears of dark, dried blood scarred her mouth, dripping heavily onto her blouse and even the young girl's sandy blonde curls.

At the sight of the large bat looming in the doorway, the small girl screamed, her lungs in flames from so much stress and tears. Batman had to get the girl out before anything could happen. It was so sick- seeing the child all by herself.

He felt horrid, and in some strange way- responsible. The Joker had been created from his own pursuing of evil. How could evil be created from such good? It made no sense to him. Now, this poor child had to suffer in ways that he could only imagine. He had also had to watch his parents die, but _she_ had seen every, gruesome detail. This child would need therapy of every kind, but nothing would wash away those awful nightmares.

He lunged forward, but the girl furiously recoiled into the deceased woman's hands, her voice shrilling to all new heights in her dreaded horror. This was beyond anything a kid could conjure up. In a sense, he had to be merciless if he wanted to save her life.

As he picked the girl up, an old yet cleverly wired speaker was found, an array of red and blue wires attached to its side.

"GO-O-O-o-o-o-O-OD MORNING! Today's forecast- quite bloody, and oh! What do you know!? It's raining bats!" a voice spat out of the coal black machine, erupting into the coldest yet cleanest cackle a human ear could imagine.

Batman halted in his tracks. What now? This wasn't looking good. The Joker always had some sort of offer in store, but it never ended well.

"All right, sugarlips. Here's the plan," rolled out another slur of deeply cut words. "I'm giving you _another_ choice. Maybe you'll make the right one this time?" he snarled in a mocking tone. "You save the candy-lickin' tot, or you save precious damsel in distress. What's it going to be?"

Batman took in a deep breath, quickly setting up figures and calculations in his head. The Joker had to be on the top floor- it was the way that it always was. With him had to be Silver. He had to save this child, but he had to save Silver. No matter what he did, there would be repercussions. Still, he had to find a way to make it work.

"Oh!" came that voice again. Oh, how Batman loathed that voice. "_And _don't try any funny stuff. I'm ALWAYS watching."

He heard a clear and audible click, and the fuzz of the system ended. He searched the area for an answer. There were no visible cameras. It could have just been a chance to intimidate him. Either way, he had to exercise caution.

The child squirmed in his arms, but he dared not stare into its green eyes- but rather searched the room for an answer. His eyes flickered almost as if he expected for the map of his escape to be written plainly on the walls. There had to be something he could use!

There, like heaven's gates opening up with a flood of mercy, a window sat a few feet away from him on the minty green, paint-chipped walls. He could try to let the girl escape there, but who knew what would happen if he didn't follow the Joker's rules. Then again, things always had a way of playing out _just_ well enough for him to do what he wanted.

Batman mounted the girl on his elbow, keeping a strong arm around her little head. She had calmed down a bit but still whimpered at the sight of his face. The masked bat raced for the window. He reached out with an iron fist, smashing through the window and assuring himself that the girl would not get hurt. Shards rained down over him like a glittering mess of water, but he held the girl as tightly as he could, ignoring her struggles.

By the time all of the pieces had fallen, the girl had sobered up a good bit, but was still in soft sobs. He set the girl down carefully, making sure to not hinder her focus. She seemed to escape to her own world at that moment- eyes drowning forth in sorrow for those she had lost. It took her a while to realize she was free to go, and she immediately took advantage of the moment and seized it. Her little legs found the energy to jolt away at surprising speeds.

As much as he wanted to follow her- put her in a home- find her relatives, Batman could do nothing. At least her life was safe for now. Lucky for him, a cop caught the small girl in the darkness and began asking her questions. It was safe for him to return back into the window and find Silver.

Batman hunched down for a moment, only to shoot back up with all of his might to the window. He managed his way through the eerie scene of the rotting mother and through the door into the small lobby. He didn't like what he saw.

Five clowns all surrounded the door, guns promptly in their arms. "You can't say I didn't warn you!" came the creepish voice once more.

"Since when do the rules count to you, Joker?" roared the Batman, but his question bore no answer, and the speaker only shut off again.

_CLICK! CL-CLICK-K!_

Each of the masked clowns loaded their guns, but rather than aiming for a vital place, they all aimed the shining, black weapons down at his legs and his feet. Such a blow could easily paralyze him.

Without a thought more, the Dark Knight threw his leg towards them, knocking them down like dominos. Just a second before, he had appeared utterly helpless, so they obviously were not expecting the impact. The shock was invisible, seeing as their faces were completely covered by those ghoulish masks.

Batman stepped over the sea of moans of agony, and as his foot hit the ground, a pulse of speed picked up within him, and he rushed forth towards a set of rickety stairs, praying to gravity that nothing would come crashing down beneath him. Like a storm he came, pressing through each level faster than a hurricane. One stair collapsed beneath him, but with quick agility he was able to swiftly recover and land himself on the top floor with an easy swing of the foot.

'_Something's wrong… This is too easy_,' the Bat emptied himself from the room for a moment, scanning his own thoughts. The Joker wouldn't make such a big slip-up. In fact, he had been making it easy for the Batman the past few times. What was going on that Bruce couldn't see?

He looked onward once more at the chipped door ahead of him, covered with splintering wood. It was the only door on the top floor, and just one look at it could tell him that there was suspicious activity going on behind it. He could take one wrong step, and it would be lights out.

An eerie aura sifted through his being as the door crept open like a mouse scampering past. Magnificent shadows of all sizes threw themselves over a figure in the distance like a chilled blanket. With his mind wary of the Joker, Batman dared not cry out to what he believed to be Silver.

His eyes adjusted quicker than he had anticipated, and a female figure came into close view. It was wearing a satin blouse, a jean skirt, and a pair of what looked like converse. It had to be her, but he had to be careful… Without a sound, the Dark Knight whirled around the room and soundlessly rested himself just behind the girl.

"Silver," he murmured softly, eyes flashing in worry.

The figure twisted its white, wigged head and stared deeply at its adversary with admirable eyes of black smears, "You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Bats!"

"JOKER!" Batman roared, and his entire world was shot upside down as an immense force yanked him from the floor and into the air. He swung there for a bit, his cape obstructing his movement until he could get a proper hold of it and see what had just happened. The room continued to sway, and he appeared to be bound by his feet to the ceiling. There was that maniacal grin, bearing in its mirth as always.

"You know, mother always told me to watch my step," he gloated.

Batman snarled in the midst of his burning frustration, "I doubt you ever gave a damn about what your mother said."

"You may just have a point," the snickered, tossing the white accessory from his head. The silvery shine of strings flew to the floor like a fountain, splashing mutedly. Staring at that lunatic in the skirt and blouse, the Bat began to wonder just how many times that man had dawned such articles of clothing before. Other than messing with the Bat, perhaps it was another sick fetish of his? Then again, the Joker never had a real reason for anything he did. At least it was never a _good _reason.

The Joker flicked a light on by the door, revealing an empty and murky apartment room. He stalked back over to the other side of the room, his shoulders strung up and tensed as he hummed yet another strange tune. "Now, now… Where are those pliers when you need them?" he sighed, obviously just trying to get on the Bat's nerves and maybe even play with his fearful side.

"What are you really doing!?" Batman asked furiously.

The Joker stopped abruptly. He made a sudden, jerky movement, and returned his gaze to the black figure, hanging from the ceiling like any normal creature of the night. "I'm going to tear your girlfriend apart in front of you. Problem?" the villain boasted, nonchalantly picking up a dicing knife and tossing it around like a toy. He caught it by the handle after each toss, and just barely took a careful hold the final throw.

Before Batman could protest or, in a slew of words, make a healthy dose of threats, a few of Joker's clowns gathered in and unveiled a frustrated and messily bound Silver. Tears were streaming from her gem-like eyes, but not a word could slip from her muzzle-bound lips. Bruce felt his anger growing at the sight of that perfectly beautiful woman being treated like some kind of animal. His eyes were soon caught by a strange girl with makeup smeared all upon her face and a deadly smirk in her eyes. Another follower? This was getting far too out of hand.

He could have cried for him to "let her go" or "set her free, just take me," but Batman knew that all efforts would be futile with a man who just didn't give a damn. When reasoning meant nothing, why even try? What he had to do was keep his mind on was finding a way out.

Joker hastily grabbed the knife from the wooden floor after clumsily dropping it and made his way over to the beautiful female wrapped thickly in his captivity. It was such a great feeling to be in control and still not know what was going to happen. That was the thrill of life!

Batsy hung helplessly, his mind reeling for answers. He was being held up by some kind of spring device hooked up on the wall that looped its way up to the ceiling. The Joker truly was a genius. It was that fact that made it so disturbing that someone with such great talents would use them for something so sick, twisted, and selfish. What had the world come to?

Further study of the rope brought him to notice a weaker point near the top. The thick coils bent in, revealing a thinner part that he could cut loose. If he managed to curve himself backwards just enough and aim it just right, he could set himself free… but could he make it? If a single shot failed, he could alert the bitter-hearted mob and could be in even more trouble than he already was. Still, for Silver's sake, it was worth a try.

The caped crusader leaned back as the Joker neared in on the woman, muttering something dark and sinister like something out of a movie.

_SHING!_

The Joker was diverted from his game to the sight of the rodent in an attempt to escape.

'_Damn it all!_' Bruce mentally scolded himself. The blades hit an inch off and were now jammed into the plaster ceiling. So much for that.

A hasty clown growled something undecipherable and shot up at him, but Bruce was well prepared. With a heavy swing, he managed to escape the fire of the bullet. Luck was in his favor, and the bullet clipped the rope, snapping it all together.

"And THAT is why I can _never_ rely on you people," the Joker sighed. Having backup people were necessary, but sometimes they were so- so- _useless_. With a flick of his wrist and a click of the gun, he shot the other clown and the body toppled to the floor like a lifeless object.

Batman sobered up and took a steady stance, ready for whatever was to come at him next. Two clowns thrusted themselves at him, and a hefty punch took one down, but another with a green mohawk got him from behind with a kick in the arse. The man behind the masked laughed as he lunged forward, but the Bat swept up an arm and gave him a strong elbow to the stomach. Another clown was down.

The third, with a careless groan, took his attention off of Silver and headed over to give his all- even though he and Bruce both knew what was going to happen to him. The clown tried to (as fast as his lanky legs would allow him) give the mysterious Batman a rough kick in the side. At least the fool was fearless. The hero barely even gave a good flinch, grabbed the leg shortly before it made impact, and flipped the hired gun on his bony back. Finally, it was time to focus in on the final clown in the room- the Joker.

"I wouldn't get too close, now," the dark-hearted man spoke, giving off a bleak face as he held a cool knife up to the girl's throat. "Unless you want her to kick the bucket… _Bruce_."

The caped creature halted. He expected there to be a look of betrayal- a desperate, hopeful, disastrous manner in which the girl that he loved showed her disapproval. It took him by surprise that she just continued to struggle out of the Joker's grip, not even flinching at the name. The Joker also seemed to be expecting more, and his prideful smile came to a quick stop when she did nothing out of the ordinary (_Nothing? Nothing at all?_).

"_Bruce Wayne_," the man in the jean skirt tried again, but the girl in his arms just struggled even further, her tears slowly drying themselves the less and less the maniac threatened at her with the metal object in his gloved hand.

Batman was growing tired of the games. Silver was obviously concentrated on the knife at the moment, and the Joker was too distracted with his "big reveal" to take note of it. The Bat took the opportunity at hand and made the decision to charge. He had to act, and he had to act now.

His feet soared off of the ground at tremendous speeds and ripped the Joker away from the girl. Silver, however, was unable to keep balance with nothing to support her strapped legs, and she eventually toppled to the ground. Batman was upset that he had let such a thing happen, but he had to keep his attention on the Joker. He had him pinned closely on the wall, and the knife was sitting on the ground. At least he didn't have to worry about that being a problem.

Silver, on the other hand, had managed to wriggle out of the majority of her messy ties and liberate all limbs necessary to peel the tape off of her mouth and speak to the man who had been responsible for the majority of their situation. More than anything, she could only feel grateful.

With a meager panic still resonating on the surface of her tongue, Silver's gaze leapt back to her savior, "You know, Bruce. I always kind of knew."

Batman kept his eyes on the Joker, but his mind was draining out the image before him, and all he could see was her beautiful face speaking words of affirmation.

"The others- they'll never know, and I'll make sure of it," she smiled, a shaky hand brushing thick, white lockes out of her face. As much as she wanted to kiss him and tell him that she needed him, deep down, she knew that it would only cause him more trouble. Her current situation was assurance enough that she needed to step away from a man that she truly cared about.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw her taking willful steps out of his life. He wasn't sure if he could ever see her again, let alone call her. Any ordinary woman would have screamed and made such a mess of things, and although she may have not been as outspoken as Rachel in such a situation, Silver showed an incredible amount of self discipline and respect. Bruce couldn't even promise himself that he would ever meet another girl like her. In fact, he wasn't even sure that he could protect _any_ woman from the circumstances. His life was out of control.

He had to say something. Whatever came out of his mouth had to speak enough volumes to her. "Silver…" he spoke, "… Thanks."

Although his words were quiet and few, Silver saw it all through his eyes. She saw the elements of love, respect, honor, and valor all packed into one man. Even though she could not love him now, perhaps a new day would bring new promises for them both. When that day would come, and if it ever even could, she would have to wait and see. –And she _would_ wait.

"AW, how adorable," came the mood-ruiner. "These things really do get me so choked up!"

"You'll keep your mouth shut, you understand?" Batman grimaced, taking a closer proximity in on his adversary. "I can't let this information get out. You're coming with _me_."

"Arkham again? OH, PLEASE. You think they can actually _keep _me?"

"No…" Batman furrowed his unseen brows, "You're coming to a place of _my own_."

'_Note to self:'_

Taking me home so soon? Why, Mr. Wayne! Where's your civility? You're a _brave_ one. You never know what someone like _me_ could do to your _health_…

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_Where did Harley go? She was in the room before... Hm... This month is going to be NUTS! I know it took a long time for this update to see the light of day, but this has seriously been crazy. October will be insane for me, so things may be coming out slowly for this story. Also, other than my Soul Calibur project I have another Batman project in the works for you all that I will be simultaneously working on (evil smirk). However, it won't have slash. I know some of you may be disappointed, but hey! I think it'll be interesting. It's going to be my take on the rise of Poison Ivy from a Nolan-sort-of-like take. It will also include more Harley background. Then, I'm also going to make another story about the Joker's origin- only with a much stranger twist. So, I've got my fanfiction writing cut out for me. I have three stories to go after this one. REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!_


	15. Thou Art Welcome

_**Thou Art Welcome (Sort of)**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later (with current sexual undertones).

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you're going to throw your computer out the window with a vengeance against me, just turn back before you hurt somebody (namely me).

**Ch. Summary: **Trusting your instincts can guide you to doing things you'll regret. Sometimes listening to that smaller voice _is_ a better idea.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –grieving- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening: **"Reclusion" by Anberlin **THEN**"If I Fell" by Evan Rachel Wood (cover of the Beatles' song- P.S. YES!!! I AM A HUGE BEATLES FAN!!! AAAGH!!!)

**Notes:** First song- first part, second song when Talia comes in. If I haven't used a song you gave me- don't worry. I have a list here with me, heehee. A lot of the songs you wonderfully amazing readers gave me I can't use until a certain somethin', somethin' happens, heheh. (Springs to life) TADAA! I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in what seems like forever. My computer got messed up while I was on a trip, and it took them forever to get it back to me after the trip! UGH! Anyway, FINALLY we have an update. Enjoy!

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He was blindfolded now, sitting blissfully in the passenger's side of the car. The Tumbler, that is. It was a massive, tank-like vehicle in black (by Bruce's request of Lucius) that the Batman made special use of on nights such as this. The Joker was currently a resident of it, smiling with yellowed teeth and making suggestive remarks just to bother his adversary as he always had. He didn't really seem to struggle much or care. He just lay there, laughing himself to bits at the situation he had found himself in.

The caped vigilante felt himself drown within the laughter, attempting to shove it as far out of his mind as he could. He remembered one thing Ra's had taught him when he was going to join the League of Shadows- that such a situation would only bother him if he focused solely on that and allowed it welcome. If he could cycle through his mind for other things that desperately needed his attention, that hideous laughter wouldn't get to him. He wouldn't let it.

"Come on, Batsy! One little hint! Do you hide in a cave like all those other rodents, hm?" The Joker cackled, lulling his head from side to side. Batman growled, climbing in the driver's side of the tumbler and shoving Joker into the passenger's side wall whenever he tipped over just a bit too much.

The cool black leather of the seats cushioned the villain quite nicely, and the Bat didn't like how much his nemesis was enjoying his stay so far. "Oooh! And what do you call this hunk of metal? The _Batmobile?_" the Joker erupted into laughter, tossing his mossy head to and fro until a certain rubber clad hand shoved his face back into the metal. The laughter subsided to muffled giggles, just loud enough for God to hear.

"Keep quiet," Batman spat out, keeping his focus straight ahead. Why he actually believed that the Joker would listen to such a demand was a mystery to Bruce himself. It never hurt to try. Well… unless it was the Joker.

It almost seemed as if making such a request prompted Joker to spew forth more nonsense. The confusing and erotic statements ensued, the painted freak dancing upon each topic like it were sleek but broken wood- then slipping sloppily onward to the next with mumbled starts and screeching punch lines.

The Joker knew he was treading on ice, but he continued on. To him, the world was just one, huge sheet of ice- ready to crack if enough people got out of line. The words toppled out, flowing forth with no correlation in Batman's ears. It was as if the Clown Prince had all of these lines stored away in his brain like some kind of filing cabinet. How could someone without a plan be so organized? It brought a whole knew meaning to the phrase "organized chaos."

Each quip cut at his ears, making him want to deafen himself forever. Not a single joke was simple or near funny- they all had to be associated with sex, violence, and silly topics that just made Bruce want to punch the fool in the side. It was time he shut up.

_RrrEEEeee!_

Joker's entire body lurched forward as the Dark Knight hit the brakes faster than one could have even suspected for a moment. His eyes darted to the driver's side, and his smile was greeted by a cold, black face.

"Not. Another. Word."

He revved up the engine with anything but a pleased demeanor and began once again towards their current target. The next thing that happened (as he continued driving) Bruce didn't completely understand. He stopped. The Joker stopped. He actually went silent. What kind of new rouse was this?

The dark eyes hid from him under cloth with that heinous smile, something sinister moving like clockwork behind them. The lights to the north faded to a warm fuzz, and the Joker almost seemed to be lulling off to a peaceful sleep. There was that smile. No matter what happened, that permanent smile would sit on his lips, wrapping itself about his mouth in a figment of joy. No matter what the hero did, even in sleep, the Joker would always be the Joker.

What if there was humanity to him? Was it possible for one person to be so completely void of morality? He had flesh. He could bleed. He was mortal. It was the darkness that separated him from humankind. But… was the Joker right? There was truth in the words when he spoke of the dark desires in the hearts of all. People just refused it because of the consequences. Bruce never considered himself religious, but he did believe there could be a God. A part of him wanted to or else the Joker would be right. Human life would be devalued. People would be alive for the sake of living. Could it be…?

No. This was exactly as the Clown Prince of Crime wanted. He wanted the silence to tear Batman apart. He had to keep focused- stay set in on his goal. There would be chaos if the Batman let the environment feed into his paranoia.

The hidden penthouse entrance was near. He could keep a close eye on him, but he wouldn't dare keep him anywhere near where Bruce was keeping all of his tools and information. It was true that he couldn't trust the Joker even within an enclosed environment, but rather than endanger the inmates of Arkham or the guards, he would have to put himself at stake, just as he always had.

The still tension in the air only seemed to ensue as the Tumbler disappeared out of sight and into an area that no one could find- let alone the Joker himself. Batman could almost feel that heinous smile behind him as he lifted the Joker from the vehicle over his shoulder and approached the back entrance with caution. With surprising compliance from his captive, Bruce set the murderer down, pushing him forcefully forward.

It was expected, to say the least, but Bruce couldn't help but still feel slightly irritated when the interrogation began, anger hurled at him like fire from his more-than-disappointed butler.

"_What the bloody hell are you thinking!?_" a bitter voice broke the silence in the dark.

"I'm sorry, Alfred, but I had no other _choice_," Bruce said, removing his helmet carefully.

The Joker twitched, his mouth agape at the sound of another voice in the room. "Oh, and who might this be? Grandpa Wayne, perhaps? Or maybe that closet lover you stash away for when times get rough?" he smirked.

"He knows who you are!?" Alfred gasped, eyes flashing in shock and worry. "I think might just understand now, at least in the slightest bit. Still, I don't unda'stand why he oughtta' be here of all places."

"No one else can handle him, Alfred, you know that." Bruce pushed the criminal forth, the Joker fumbling onward with his mossy hair swinging over his surreal face.

"Buh-Bye Gramps," Joker twisted his head back towards where the elderly voice was, only to have a forceful hand grip his head and shove it forward. He knew Alfred was in danger now, but if he could keep a tight enough grip on the clown, hopefully the damage would haunt Bruce and Bruce only. It was risky. Then again, just putting on that chilling, black mask was risk enough each day.

The room was rather warm. Surprisingly so. Had the heat been turned up any more, it would have felt like the sweltering humidity of summer. Rachel. He could remember the summer days that she and he would spend together having picnics, surrounded by their families in the bittersweet days of his childhood. What those people did to her, what the Joker did to her… They could never pay enough for it.

It was time to remove the blindfold. Now, this should have been a simple task had the captive been someone else, but the Joker seemed determined to make it far more difficult. Everything was complicated with him- or at least he had to make it.

"Missed me, missed me… Now you gotta' kiss me!" the nameless man cackled with every, swift move by the Bat that he managed to evade.

Watching the Batman move about with such precision could be even more thrilling than studying the curves of a mushroom cloud as it spurts high into the air at times (if only he could see it now). He wasn't exactly in top form at the moment, seeing as he was a bit worn out from what must have been days without sleep. It was easy to tell, even when blinded, or else the hero would have had him pinned to the floor by now.

_CRASH!_

A priceless vase shattered to the floor, its shiny blue bits breaking apart like a cowering crowd. "Ah, it's always the vase, isn't it, Brucie?" the Joker sighed, pulling the piece of cloth from his eyes. The Dark Knight only growled in response, refusing to amuse to the clown any further.

Other than a few decorations and a fancy futon, there wasn't a whole lot else in the room. Not even a window. Bruce couldn't trust his nemesis with a whole lot. Even a single book just lying about could spur a whole plan into motion. Speaking of which, he should probably remove that painting-

"Lost interest in me already, my dear boy?" the Joker peered up at his captor, only to receive a cold glance and door slammed in his face. Well, there wasn't much else to expect from someone so _humorless_…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was certainly a strange feeling. He felt so alone, but one more room in his home had just been occupied. Maybe it was the fact that, even though he had a guest, that guest could take Alfred's life at any minute, making one less person in the world to sincerely care about Bruce Wayne- one of the few who would without money as an obligation.

The process to capture the Joker was what actually had concerned him. It was too easy. He would have thought that maybe a "bang" or a "boom" would have gone off by now and that his penthouse would be burning to the ground, but all that he saw on that screen of his was Joker- laying on the futon and quoting nursery rhymes in a sing-song voice. Strange, that was more the Scarecrow's style. Still, madmen often think in similar patterns.

"This is a dangerous game you play, Batman."

That voice.

The breeze…

The window.

Bruce turned in his chair to view the curvy figure creeping in the window. "Talia…" he breathed out, realizing his bare face was exposed to the rays of the moonlight.

"Don't worry. You don't need your mask, my love. I think nothing of Gotham society. I only care about who your truly are, Batman," she smiled, legs slinking in with slow caution. "In fact, I'm almost surprised that I'm the only one to have followed you here."

It wasn't just that easy to get past security or any of the diversions he'd set up. "What do you want?" he asked, bitterness in his tone refusing to mask distrust.

"You know… my father spoke of you. He said that he believed you the only one to truly deserve me," she spoke. Her words flowed out in a way that Catwoman's did not. They were not as deep or sultry. Her tone almost seemed to stay on that same particular track but veer away at a certain pitch.

"Your father?" Bruce's face stood still, his sight taking in the glow of her eyes. "Where are you going with this?"

Talia approached him slowly, almost seeming to attempt to ensnare him in her motives. "My father suggested a sort of… bethroved arrangement."

"I never signed off on this 'arrangement.' Who is he?"

Although she could have ceased, the woman pushed onward. Her hands, small but strangely rough, grasped his jaw with affection, "Then perhaps, my dear, we could make things that way." Her hands began to trail down his bare stomach, landing gingerly on his striped pajama pants.

"I don't think that we-"

"Shhh…" she calmly settled his protests to still air, cool lips fashioned to his tenderly. She wasn't as rough as Catwoman either. It was strange. There were things about them both that were tough, but both of them still had that soft touch. Something feminine to define them.

Bruce gained control, pushing her towards the bed where they lay together, lips locked. He was careful with her, though. There was something about her that made him handle her like a porcelain doll. Her hair was so soft in his hands, like silk passing through his fingertips in the smoothest threads.

As he pulled away, and gazed into her dark eyes… Something was wrong. That face- it wasn't the right face. Was it Selina? Perhaps the memory of Silver had come to pour more guilt upon him? Was there even supposed to be a face there at all?

"Is something wrong?" she asked tenderly, hands gently cradling his head.

…

"No. It's fine." A lie.

Too many of the girls circled in his head as he immersed himself within Talia's body. He had to make a choice. The brunette that lay beneath him he couldn't say he had fallen for. Why he had even allowed himself entrance into this situation- Bruce refused to allow himself to comply with the daunting questions.

It wasn't long before the two figures passed into a sleep, and the entire room fell into complete silence. As they slept, a single monitor lay awake to illuminate a corner of the room. A face was its occupant, eyes bloodshot and wide, gazing about the camera and all of its intricate parts. With a single click, the room showcased in the box became nothing but dead fuzz.

The morning would be an all new adventure.

'_Note to self:'_

Patience is key, my friend. When a Bat comes for answers, the answer is simple. Funny, ain't it? How something so obvious is so invisible? Yes. Yes, indeed. It's a _very_ funny world we live in…

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_Shorter chapter. Just had to kick this off again. Little Joker bit from "Haunted Knight" was in there, haha. Couldn't help myself. As you can tell, I haven't been pointing out scenes that I've wanted to be drawn as of late. Instead, I just feel that it'd be best to let you artists out there just go ahead and decide what scenes stick out –insert smiley face that I am refraining from using-. I'm so, so, SO sorry. It feels like it's been years! Oh, the continuous, dramatic sequence of events that is life –inward sigh-. Reviews are seriously my life blood. Like a vampire, rawr. NO, that is not a Twilight plug, sorry, haha._


	16. Tea and Crumpets

_**Tea and Crumpets**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later (with current sexual undertones).

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you have a caged, bloodthirsty hyena like Harley Quinn, please refrain from unleashing it and just turn back.

**Ch. Summary: **A short discussion seems like an utterly harmless way to get to know someone- lest it be the Joker.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –bereaved- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening: **"Notice" by Gomez **THEN**"Futurism" by Muse

**Notes:** First song for first half, and the second for the second- you get the drill, ha. Is the Joker trying to escape? Well… maybe he doesn't _want _to leave… yet.

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The tea needed something sweet, so he felt more than obliged to add a syrupy mess into the confines of the black mug he clutched between two tan hands. The taste had now become something less of peppermint. The honey was far more dominant in the drink's current state. How delightful.

Alfred Pennyworth was trailing down the stairs with the morning paper. Bruce Wayne had left for work with a panicked demeanor a short while ago. The morning's events had left him completely flustered. He had woken up to a face that would make any winged crusader of the night's blood boil.

"Brucie… Oh, Brucie-kins," the Joker had chirped in a sing-song voice to his awakening rival. Bruce's face contorted, and he shot up startled. "Mornin', Dolly," the painted man continued smugly, tapping his fingers on the sheets expectedly.

Bruce inspected his surroundings. Talia had departed, but in her place sat a blade, digging into the confines of the bed. It looked like a hostile threat, but Bruce wasn't sure what to make of it. If she had seen the Joker, her intentions may have changed. He hoped to the heavens that the inconvenient misunderstanding would not lead to unnecessary actions on her part.

It was no surprise to Mr. Pennyworth to now find the Joker downstairs with his tea, outside of the room that Mr. Wayne had attempted to lock him in. Tighter security did nothing for such a creature. "I assume everything is to your _accommodations_!" Alfred shouted from his place on the steps, his voice drenched in a fury of sarcasm. He was getting older, and he didn't mind pushing his boundaries. He held absolutely no respect for men such as this. He had dealt with them before- scars or no scars.

He had such a strange feeling tingle in his old bones that began to course through him when he noticed the Joker's face. It was washed clean- not a single bit of his makeup left remaining on his face. Alfred's eyes swept the room across from the madman politely sipping his tea to a picture sitting idly on an end table.

The silver frame surrounded two faces. It was Master Bruce and his late friend Wiley. There was something eerie about the picture as it stood just a ways away from the silent but recently cleaned killer. Alfred looked back and forth, then back again. The resemblance was almost terrifying. The rounded nose, the strong and prominent jaw, and the soft, seemingly innocent eyes... Alfred felt his heart stop for a moment. He seemed much less intimidating without the makeup and the costume. So- he was human after all.

"You look an uncanny bit like an old friend of 'is," Alfred muttered, almost surprised that he was actually trying to talk with this nameless man. It all seemed a bit ridiculous, but the Joker didn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon. He had managed to find the shower, so he probably would have found a way outside of Bruce's password-safe penthouse that happened to be on lock down at the moment. Picking his brain a bit could be of some use- better yet distracting.

Jack pursed his lips and raised a pinky, taking a calm sip of his honey-drenched peppermint tea with a sturdy, unwavering gaze. He set the glass down with a hint of mercy in his eyes. "Oh, really?" he queried with a smug expression on his face.

"Dun' pretend like you haven't already snooped about," Alfred cut in before the man before him could start out with the quips and jokes. He wasn't in the mood.

Jack watched the white-haired man approach him at a steady pace and pull out a rag from his pocket, swiping over any smudges on the speckled counter. Not even a flinch from the man. How disappointing. "I'm fine thank you, and how might _you_ be? Enjoying playing the butler? Nice suit, if I may add," he shot back with a smile.

"I'm rather perturbed, actually," Alfred replied as he tucked the rag back into his rag. He rested an elbow on the counter, leaning casually against it. He studied the man before him for a moment. This was a broken human being. Somewhere along the line, he lost his inhibitions. "Tell me Mr.-?"

"Call me J."

"J. Well, that will have to do then. Tell me something, Mr. J. What business do you have here?" he asked, point blank.

"Well, Mr.-?"

"Pennyworth."

"Well, Mr. Quarters and dimes, what business does any of us have on this earth? We live, we teach, we torture, we die," Jack smirked, mimicking Alfred as he leaned against the sleek counter top. The morning light was still barely peeking up through the tall, glass windows. He found himself staring out of it for a moment, feeling apathetic about his "day off." The city was still as smokey and pathetic as ever (_No change there, buck-o_).

Alfred narrowed his eyes down at the strange man. "If you must know, Mr. _Berscelli_," he began with a mocking hint towards the fact that not only Bruce, but he also had been aware of his presence at the party that night, "I'm 'ere for plenty of reasons besides my own entertainment. People like Master Bruce hope for a better life for not only those around him, but those of future generations."

"A single lifespan, eh? I don't think life's worth living if reproduction is the only perk. Well, tell me this, wrinkles- you can't say that you've denied yourself all _shits_ and _giggles_," Jack remarked with a devious gleam in his eyes.

Alfred's expression immediately turned sour, "No. I dare say I haven't. If I could take back the pain that I've caused other people because of it, I would- but there's never any use in wallowing over the mistakes of the past."

Jack snickered. "Well, buddy-boy, you're about the millionth person to say that today on this planet, I bet. There's no use in pretending like continuing a chain of smile-less dopes is too grand a state either."

"It's a foolish thing to believe that happiness will last you foreva'," Alfred pointed out as the scarred man picked up a biscuit and nibbled on it messily.

"That is… if you don't get the joke," Jack gave a cocky smirk as he leisurely set the biscuit back down on its side.

Alfred sighed and folded his old, weathered hands together neatly. "I have a strong feelin' that tryin' to reason with you is like tryin' to keep a dog from chasin' a cat," he put it grimly. There was a chance to save everyone in this world from themselves, but most refused to take it. Alfred refused to debate with a wall- unmoving and barely responsive.

Jack chuckled at the analogy. He imagined himself on all fours, chasing Selina off the cliff where she belonged. She was just a nuisance- distracting Bruce from the true terrors such as himself. He grew tired of playing with her so easily, but the only person that ever gave him a consistent game was Batman. Therefore, he would do whatever it took to keep the endless jest going. He refused to drop it until one of them dropped into his own grave. That was also a funny picture.

"So- no past, no name. You plan on keepin' it that way?" Alfred turned his eyes away from the mysterious man next to him and looked over and out one of the large, frame-less windows on the side.

Jack gave the man a smile, regardless of his ever-so-divided attention. He wasn't surprised when the old man took out the same rag and began wiping over the counters again. A multitasking butler came about often for most rich men. "As long as it plays into my interests," he grinned and took a deep gulp of the thickened liquid.

"I'm guessing your interests are the only reason that I'm still standing here," Alfred shook his head as he kept his eyes down on the black surface. "Can't say I'm thankful for your _mercy_," he scoffed.

"You're very welcome, buddy boy." Jack slouched into one of the padded bar stools. "I think your time is coming soon enough in your 'natural' state. I need to keep you in the game a while longer," he remarked.

Jack mindlessly stepped up onto the stool with uneven balance. The room around him swayed a bit as he managed to step his way onto the counter and danced across it from one surface to the next. It wasn't long before he found his way on top of the table top and did a loppy leap across the smooth glass.

The old man was probably shouting something angrily at him, but Jack only took it as reason to move forward with his performance. The growing light from the window crossed paths with the glass. It was a stunning light and made for an interesting dynamic in his dance. How unfortunate that what once seemed to be a blessing turned into an inconvenience.

A glare flashed into his soft brown eyes. He wasn't too sure what happened in the following moments. The old man shouted something along the lines of "what in the bloomin' world are you thinkin'", and when Jack finally realized what had transpired, he was on the tile, shattered glass bits in his hair and robe. A few pricked into his skin and caused mild bloodshed, but he didn't seem to mind. An uproarious laughter erupted from his mouth. It was the very sound that Alfred dreaded to hear.

The elderly man kneeled beside the mess with a face that read of a man who was fed-up with the games and the strange situations that his boss dragged him into. With a heavy sigh, he muttered under his breath, "_Bloody hell…_"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jack sat in the middle of his own mess. It was typical of himself to be amidst panic, but the silence would have been boring had there not been such a pleasing sight to gaze upon. Bodies were sprawled out in the dirt road, and some even lay on top of each other as if two, hopeless people had tried to save each other. How cute.

The smell wafting through the dusty air was soothing. The rotten bit of it was a little annoying, but he shrugged the feeling off and refocused in on what he had been originally doing. The slab of cement was speckled with black bits that scattered out into a messy circle around the area where his parents had once resided.

He had read about bombs, but it was still important to test them. The game was never all that fun when an explosion refused to sound on its cue. The plans never needed much structure, and he hated it when they went smoothly, but certain things were simply _necessary_.

Jack scooted back a bit further, nudging a charred, lifeless corpse out of the way so that he could sit back down next to his precious detonator. The twelfth bomb was in place, and it was ready to blow the rest of the remains to hell.

He counted backwards in his head, and when the clock ticked down to zero, bombs away. A deafening blast erupted on the spot, and Jack watched the beautiful flames curls into the air, painting pictures of all that he'd forgotten. It seemed strange to be thinking about his mother at that moment, but he managed to force the weird, distracting feeling off of his chest and realign his eyes with the smoke that crawled out on the floor and wrapped itself around his ankles. The dust eventually settled on his shoes and brought his focus back to life.

The base had now been destroyed. Finally. He had managed to create a blast powerful enough with just enough to show to please the crowds- or at least make them panic, fret, or tear their own hair out. That was always funny to watch.

Jack was smart, and he knew it. It wasn't difficult to retain all of the information that he had gathered about a bomb, its configuration, and its inner workings that he didn't just know how to put a decent bomb together, he actually understood it. He could make a _great_ bomb. They were such beautiful, temporary things. They were so small, and yet they could take human lives by the dozen. Marvelous.

He removed the pieces of the detonator easily. There weren't any bombs left to set off, so he assumed that it was safe to turn in from his busy day. There were other, lazy bums out there that he had to give a hard time, anyway; too many people still using up breath that should have been gone a long, long time ago.

Jack took off his jacket and shoved it in his pack- along with all of the dismantled detonator's bits. It was odd to look in on the town that he had once forgotten. He thought that he had been ready to revisit it, but the grounds that he stepped on still found a way to send tingly, unwanted feelings up and down his spine.

The stupid town had done enough to him. For years, it had boxed him into it, forcing him to listen to his stupid kindergarten teacher's nursery rhymes and do whatever work his father forced him into as a teenager. Anger boiled in his veins. Just the thought of that nuisance of a man and the life that he had been born into nearly drove him mad (_Nearly_ _mad? So… I haven't accomplished that already? HAHA!_).

Jack zipped his pack shut, slung it over his shoulder, and maneuvered his way over the bodies, his eyes scanning over the endless sea of smiles. It was beautiful- a true work of art. The faces stared back up at him in delight, their eyes still wide open against the black that circled them. It was too bad that he forgot his camera. It would have looked delightful on his mantle, if he ever even had one. For that matter, he wasn't even sure if he had a camera. He would have to look into that for future reference.

The road lead him back to a truck labeled subtly "bottled water." He opened the back, piled high with bombs, and tossed his bag in with the confines. Jack walked to the front of the vehicle and placed a blood-encrusted key in the ignition. That trucker had been quite the fighter. Just not good enough... He had taken his time to make sure that each bomb would be just right- enough to rival the Batman and his precious city of Gotham.

Jack revved up the engine with a cocky grin, "Batty-boy, meet your next fa-a-avorite nightmare."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Batman crouched on the building with his coal black binoculars gripped tightly in both of his palms. His eyes narrowed in on the small clusters of people gathering around the vans outside of the warehouse. There wasn't a whole lot of suspicious activity going on that night other than some petty gang members trying to transport drugs. That was an incredible rarity for Gotham. He knew that there must have been some greater things in the works behind the scenes. If he could only-

"Hey, darlin'," a voice purred, black leather blocking his vision.

Batman growled. He had been having more than his share of feminine interruptions over the course of the last several months. They were all beautiful, and he had his own connection with each of them, but unlike the Joker, he didn't want to play games. That was just one of the many things that divided them.

Batman lowered the binoculars from his face and stared up into her sapphire eyes darkly. "I hope this is important," he grumbled, standing back up onto his feet. His dark figure grew, leering over her attractive frame.

Catwoman smirked, stroking his jaw with affection. Batman wasn't having it. His face grew fierce, moving her hand away. He was tired of her distractions. He was tired of all of their distractions. It was too much of the same. Woman after woman, luring him in- distracting him emotionally and physically. Hopefully, the woman before him now had something constructive to say to him. Things were too quiet around town.

"If you're wondering where the action's at, the east side is booming," she said, the words rolling off her tongue. Her expression turned sour at the rejection, and she turned her back to him as her explanation ensued, "Plenty of suspicious weapons activity, and I have reason to believe that our best friend Roman Sionis is behind this."

Batman looked down at the drug runners, then back up at the woman clothed in black leather. "You and I need to dig into this further," he spoke in a gruff voice, "so what do you know?"

Catwoman's luscious lips curled into a devious smirk. Her long arms wrapped lovingly around his thick neck, and she tried to pull him in closer yet his body refused to budge. "Maybe a little _persuasion_ will sway me," she said playfully.

He stood as cold and distant as a statue. "I'm not going to play into that. Not this time. There are bigger things at hand," he pointed out to her, forcibly taking a step away from her. He was all too used to the feminine touch. He had to focus for once, and he would- he owed himself that much.

Catwoman scowled, begrudgingly storming over to the edge of the rooftop and firmly setting a stiletto on the edge. It still surprised him how well she could maneuver in them. She swung her masked head back at him, her eyes like crystals glaring over at him as if she had just lost some sort of battle. In her own eyes, she may as well have.

"A warehouse on the dodgy end. You'll know it when you see me," she growled. A leap into the air turned her into another disappearing act. Batman could hear the crack of her whip as she latched onto a flap pole and pulled herself up onto another ledge.

The Batman snarled, staring back out at his dying city.

"Warehouse… Original."

'_Note to self:'_

Too much of the same drink can make a man ill. Have a taste of what I'm selling, and you'll either drop six feet under or thank me later... Care for a taste?

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_Alfred and Joker banter. How could I not resist? –evil laughter- I'm sorry that chapters have been eking out so crazy slow lately. I've been incredibly distracted by other matters. On the note of what other stories I'm planning- it may be a long time after this story that I do my Soul Calibur story and my Poison Ivy story, but it will happen. This will only happen, though, once other things here and there in my life have finally settled. Reviews definitely make this story move along faster because it gives me a sense of urgency- knowing that there is expectation and all. Thanks so much to everyone who has kept with me and continued to give me support in this so that I can keep going strong. Thank you!_


	17. Brother, Where Art Thou?

_**Brother, Where Art Thou?**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later (with current sexual undertones).

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you're suddenly enraged by the fires of hell, please change fanfics. Now.

**Ch. Summary: **A single conversation can change someone's entire perspective on a situation.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –unnerved- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening: "**The Well and the Lighthouse" by The Arcade Fire

**Notes:** Now we're getting somewhere. I think the next chapter will be something of a fantasy for a lot of you, haha. It's not necessarily _my_ fantasy, but it's interesting to write.

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Bruce stepped in through the back door. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. His eyes scoped out the entry area. Nothing.

_Sshhht… Sshhht…_

The dining room. Alfred Pennyworth, longtime Wayne butler and friend, was sweeping up the last few shards of glass around a topless table. The morning light was just beginning to grow stronger, permeating the room with an orange glow.

"Long night, sir?" Alfred asked without much of a cordial tone. That classic British accent was respect enough.

Bruce's mouth turned at a slant, "No sign of Black Mask. The warehouse was cleared out."

"More warehouses, eh? You'd think they'd learn after the first hundred times," his butler replied with more of an edge than Master Bruce had been expecting. It was then that he remembered the _guest_.

"Rough morning?" Bruce asked. A fire was lit within his own voice. No one had respect for the mongrel. Murderers respected no one; therefore they got no respect in return.

Alfred quit sweeping and gazed up at his best friend, his son- the man he played accomplice to. The gentle brushing of the broom fell to a quiet nothing. Bruce noticed how old fashioned the tool was. There were plenty of better equipment sitting around to use, but sometimes Alfred just seemed to like the simplified version. After all, there wasn't much of anything that was simple about their lives any more. There had never really seemed to be in the first pace.

"The clown felt it necessary to dance on tabletops," the old man scowled.

Bruce couldn't help the smirk that made its way onto his face. That sounded like the Joker. Alfred must have had his hands full. Bruce forced himself back to reality, resetting his moral compass for a moment. The smile immediately disappeared.

"I'd go see 'im if I were you," Alfred sighed, returning diligently to his work, "just to make sure that he's not selling your art on eBay."

A chuckle escaped Bruce's lips. If the Joker had actually gone and done that, it might have been his first genuinely funny act. Humorous or no, Bruce wouldn't take the bull or the tricks. He had more important things to be worrying about than a clown vying for his attention like an entertainer in a room full of laughing people, focusing all his energy on that one heckler that wouldn't crack a smile. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't scream- and he definitely wouldn't run away.

Bruce craned his head around. He didn't feel like doing detective work after a whole night of vigilante work. The Batman could spare himself for once.

"Where is he at?"

"Somewhere upstairs."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Just break his neck for me."

"Of course."

The billionaire trailed up the stairs with a perfect stride. He certainly couldn't smell the Joker anymore, that was for sure. Alfred must have made sure that he bathed. That was at least one less concern of his.

_Tp, tp_

_Pitter-patter_

_Creak!_

_Tp…_

The sound of the Joker's uneven steps filled the air, but the face that turned the corner next caught him by surprise.

"Wiley…?" Bruce choked on his words. That face was unmistakable. The perfect button nose sitting just above scarred mouth and firm jaw mirrored the face that he had known so well during his time at Princeton. That face was one of the reasons why he had fled from that University all those years ago.

"Close, but I would be the drop-dead-gorgeous one," the man before him spoke with a quirked brow.

Bruce shook his thoughts out of the pitfall that they had dropped into. The fact that he had let his own mutterings and musings come in the way of dealing with madmen made him want to punch his own head through a wall. Maybe the Joker's would suffice.

Bruce's face turned firm, a shield between the two forces standing in the middle of the hallway. "What do you really want, Joker? You should be long gone by now," he murmured. So his theories had proven correct thus far. What the Joker wanted dealt with _him_.

"Please. Call me Jack," the man spoke, and his voice suddenly turned much softer and less menacing. For once, he sounded almost human. The one known as "Jack" leaned up against the stark white wall. "Don't call me by the twin's name either," he sneered.

Bruce didn't even flinch at the joke, "Funny. Next one will send you through the wall."

Jack grinned. "For once, I don't make a joke, and I actually get an amusing response from you."

Bruce's heart stopped. "Pardon?"

"You heard me. No need in comparing the black sheep to the good son."

"I don't follow."

"Of course you do. You're just in denial. Better to leave those memories untainted, right Bat- oh, pardon _mwah._ I meant- right, Brucie?" Jack placed a hand on his hip as he continued to sass his favorite flying rodent.

Bruce stood still with eternity wrapped in his palm. The Joker (_You mean JACK? Ring a bell?_) was frozen against the wall, just like the rest of time. He wasn't his usual chipper self. Bruce could tell that the makeup less clown preferred the inhuman character he was so used to playing. The question was, which act was the façade?

The man before him was currently claiming to be the twin brother of the deceased. Bruce had a hard time coming to terms with it, but he would keep digging. The Joker (_JACK!_) was a liar (_prove it, rubber butt_). Why should he start trusting him now? "You were Wiley's brother?"

Jack frowned. "Thought I'd never get you back there for a moment, Sherlock. You could call me _su hermano_, if you please. It's not like I knew much about him, though. He didn't enjoy being home. Nobody does when Daddy dabbles in dirty business. Of course, the old man would prefer to play it off like I was the only one. Less attention for us, but he still got Momma's love. Most of it, in fact," he ranted.

Bruce pieced it together. The faces were too perfectly matched for it not to be the truth. Suddenly, Wiley didn't seem so far.

"_Yoohoo! Brucie!_ I losin' you again?" Jack asked glumly.

Bruce frowned. Although this newer side of him seemed less hostile, he certainly wasn't any less annoying. Jack didn't seem too comfortable in his own skin, though. It was like he was wearing a mask. It was as if the other man, when he caked on the paint and dawned that ridiculous suit, was the _real_ man. Bruce couldn't deny that he had found that true about himself. A mask was merely a prop to bring out his inner demons.

"You don't deserve to have that face," Bruce hissed.

Jack cringed. His eyes stood in a glare as his voice erupted from his lips, "Oh! Touchy! It's not my fault the way my DNA's written. Even _you_ can't blame me for that." The Bat obviously was angrier than usual. It was just then that Jack saw how much emotion was usually hidden underneath that cowl.

Bruce strangled his feelings under and continued. "What do you know about Wiley's death?" he asked bluntly.

The man before him was feeling as just as much of a clown, or so it seemed. "Catch me first, explanations later!" he cackled, swiftly turning and racing down to the other end of the hall.

Bruce was after him like a lightning bolt in the midst of spring rain. Jack's running, on the other hand, looked more like the dance of some kind of circus performer. He didn't get far before the man that appeared so professional in his button-up shirt caught him by the waist and forced him over.

The moment that followed was strange. Bruce felt so close to Wiley just then with his arms wrapped around Jack's waist. They were too different but all too similar. It was the same smile that caught him. Jack twisted his head around with a grin that, for once, didn't appear threatening or cruel. It looked like the grin of a small child, excited to play with its new toy.

"Did I touch a soft spot?" Jack cooed in delight at the pressure around his hips. What, exactly, had Brucie and Wiley been up to back at that University? How interesting…

Bruce growled and pushed the criminal away from him. Perhaps it was too hard. Jack wound up flat on his back, snickering between the hissing every time his head smacked against another step. The man in the robe was falling down the stairs at an alarming rate.

There was a guilty joy that Bruce felt when he watched his adversary topple over like that, but his instincts took over, and before Jack fell to the bottom, the billionaire entrepreneur sailed down, gripping the railing and flipping himself over it. He reached the bottom in time and yanked Jack to his feet before his head smacked against the tile.

Jack's head was spinning, and his eyes spoke testament to that. He didn't really seem to understand what he was looking at, but that big, dumb grin wouldn't wipe off his face. Bruce forced his mouth downward to keep himself from smiling. He reminded himself that Jack wasn't Wiley, and he certainly wasn't nearly as innocent.

"Okay, okay…" Jack breathed, getting onto his feet. "I don't know a whole lot about my brother's death, okay? Wiley never really had the firepower to get out of shady situations," he said with an odd sneer. He straightened himself out, but he didn't pull himself out of Bruce's grasp (_Heck why would I want to?_). "I know that he and I had _one_ thing in common, though- regardless of our pretty faces."

"And-?" Bruce asked, nearly smacking himself for giving into such charades.

Jack continued to grin dozily. That fall must have done a number on his head. His mouth opened into a wide "o" for a second, but it reformed itself, and he spoke in that strange, friendly voice as if had known Bruce for years, "Our fascination with _you_."

Bruce remembered the kiss. The way Wiley had sucked him in was like nothing he'd ever witnessed before. He had been disgusted with himself. Even at that moment, with Jack gripped tightly in his hands, he still felt dirty and sickened. Bruce would never admit to his man-hood being threatened, but he would admit that what was going on- he did not like.

"Upstairs. Now."

"Oh! Come on! Read me a bedtime story!"

"NOW!!!" Bruce roared.

Jack frowned for a moment and slinked up the stairs with a disappointed look. He never liked it when the fun and games were over. He was pretty sure that Bruce had said something else under his breath shortly after, but after all of those explosions and all that gun fire that Jack had put himself in the midst of, he was pretty sure that he would be completely deaf by the time he was forty. The chaos was worth the effort.

Bruce's room was just as quiet and peaceful as ever. How boring. Jack stretched and plopped down on the goldenrod bedspread. He laid there for a moment, contemplating what he could do complete his goal and get all of the insight that he needed. Bruce obviously was getting something out of it too, or else he would have pulled the reigns in tighter. Much, much tighter.

_Creee-_

The door was opening. Jack peered up from his place at the face of the brooding man who was currently his captor. Well, that was a delighting sight, indeed.

"Were you disappointed?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Hmmm?"

Bruce smirked in return, an almost rueful expression corrupting his eyes. "Were you disappointed when you found out that I was the Batman?" he asked.

Jack leaned back and stared up at the blank TV screen on the ceiling, mulling over his answer. The one thing he couldn't seem to muster was disappointment. "Honestly? Nah. I thought that I would be since you're basically just a traumatized, over-grown child, but the way you insulted yourself before the public… not bad," he minded with a chuckle.

Bruce stepped towards the bed, still smiling. Jack grinned. There was one success. He actually made the Batman smile. If he could manage the same thing while the man was under the cowl, there would be a sight! A true Kodak moment! A laugh might be a stretch, but in the end, the world would be laughing at his antics. He would make them.

Then he was gone. That was one thing Jack noticed. Bruce didn't need the suit to disappear without a single shadow or sound to give him away. He frowned. The silence returned to him like a bad habit, and he was forced back into the cage of his thoughts. Where was the fun without the fire?

Bruce Wayne trotted down the winding stairway and down into the living room. Alfred was sitting (for once) and had the daily paper to his face for examining. The front read "Minor Fugitives Caught, Nightmare Ensues."

"You know, you aren't the only one that's lookin' for 'im," Alfred said with perfect syllables. He lowered the newspaper, exposing his aged face. "Looks like the Joka' and Roman are the only ones left. Witnesses claim that it was a psychiatrist that let them lose," he said, pulling down his reading glasses to glance over at the young man standing a short way away from him.

Bruce stood as still as a statue as he spoke, "Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Almost didn't get to be a shrink, but seducing a professor always seems to help cheat your way out."

"Not very surprising, if I may add."

"Of course not," Bruce's emotions sat as flat as the rest of him as he spoke. No matter how insane, criminals were all twisted. Twisted and _wrong_.

Alfred placed a thoughtful finger on his chin. Bruce took notice of it, just as he would to any other detail. "Problem?" Bruce asked. He knew that Alfred's infamous input was about to be inserted into the conversation. Bruce appreciated it regardless. He had known Alfred too long to disregard his opinion.

The white-haired man pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side. "You know… If the Joker wanted to leave, he would have by now. If you know what he wants, you need to do something about it." Alfred folded the paper under his arm, stood up, and left the room. Bruce knew those words would never leave him alone.

_If you know what he wants, you need to do something about it._

'_Note to self:'_

Many a man has found himself with delusions of grandeur. Many a man, however, isn't many of _me_. My delusions aren't just _delusions_, you know…

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_REVIEW! That's all for now. Yup… So… Review. Please? Kay, I miss your reviews! *sniff*_


	18. Through the Tremor Cometh the Quake

_**Through the Tremor Cometh the Quake**_

**Title: **Corrupted Love

**Rating:** "M" for violence, language, and sexuality.

**Pairing: **Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so go POOF if it gets your knickers in a twist!

**Ch. Summary: **Small encounters can create an earthquake. For Bruce and Jack, it's no different.

**Disclaimer: **The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –depression- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

**Suggested Listening:** "Giving In" by Adema

**Notes:** I'm not a person who likes random smut, so if this seems like random smut, just ask and I'll answer.

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Bruce was fed up. When he was fed up, there was no rhyme or reason for the life he breathed into anything he did. The Joker's rants and psychological games were driving him up a wall. Never had someone tapped into his brain like that, and he didn't appreciate it. _He_ was supposed to be the one delving into a criminal's mind and pulling out answers on a string.

"_Some men just want to watch the world burn._"

Alfred Pennyworth, his loyal butler and companion, had always shared one-liners full of insight and criticisms. Today was no different. Before he had even taken the time to return to Jack whom was in Bruce's room in the penthouse suite, the snappy old man made another remark that bit into his master's conscience.

Bruce had asked about the morning's paper, with little to no response from the other man standing in the demure living area. A simple "mhm" never sufficed for Bruce, and the two had proceeded to discuss the matter of Jack and Roman. Conversation was what he desired, seeing as the person whom enlightened him most was just a few feet away from him. Although the leading man never enjoyed hearing he was wrong, he was always sound enough to reason with himself.

"Why so modest, Alfred?" the man asked with hints of subtle sarcasm, peering his deep brown eyes away from his paper to meet the eyes of his strangely coquettish accomplice. The elderly man had returned a moment after their previous discussion with a hot cup of steaming liquid in his hands.

"Sir," Alfred breathed in, almost seeming to suck something in that was on the verge of escaping him. His ghostly sapphire eyes met the one's coming upon them, looking as stern and as clever as ever, "Would you be releasing the Joker to elsewhere any time soon?"

"Release him, Alfred?" Bruce quirked a brow, speaking from beneath his teeth. "Isn't the point of keeping him captive… _keeping_ him captive?" the master made a haughty smirk. He knew that the aged butler was getting at something again.

Alfred pursed his lips, giving Bruce the old "_You don't get it, do you?_" look. He opened his rather large mouth, ready to bust out with another epiphany-giving statement in one of the most infectious accents, "Sir… Brilliant men have a way of getting what they want." He paused. Alfred was not sure how to put what irked him most. Master Bruce had a way of concealing himself. Whether it was through Batman or through his own emotions, one thing he showed well was anger. "Had the current hostage _wanted_ to get out, I'm sure he would have by now," said the butler, and Bruce simply nodded.

"I believe that we've established this fact," he murmured.

The wise old man took a deep breath. "I'm beginning to realize that what he wants, you probably don't want to give him. Mind you, I don't need to know what this thing is," Alfred paused once more as if for dramatic effect rather than for gathering his thoughts, "but sometimes a compromise must be made in order to spare the harm of other things." Bruce saw the underlying meaning. If he could get the Joker to leave, the Joker could lead him to Black Mask. The two had escaped together, so the two had to have some link. Earlier conversations with "Jack" about this bore no fruit, and beating him wasn't of much use either. And with that, the butler was trailing out of the room once again.

It was now, sitting alone in a large, champagne colored chair, the head of Wayne enterprises found one decision that appeared impossible to make. Was he really even in control, or was this all a part of the Joker's plan? Would the mass murderer stay or go?

Mass. Murderer.

Those two words struck a nerve. They may have just been words, but they meant something. Something important: murderer, killer, thief, psychopath, lunatic… human.

Whether or not Bruce would admit it aloud, he recognized the fact that the man currently occupying his room was just another human being. Regardless of psychological differences, Bruce also recognized that Jack had a brain that functioned similarly to any others. He had reasoning, and even if it was nearly void within him, he had some form of love.

Bruce knew what the Joker wanted. He wanted to see that wound in him that could break open at any moment and be exposed. He wanted to smell a brief sense of victory just to gain another battle. Bruce refused to satisfy this request completely, but he would have to comply in some form or else no end would be in sight. Before the games could end, he had to play along a bit longer.

By exposing his own white flag, Bruce would offer an opportunity for Jack to succumb to his own weaknesses and therefore provide himself an upper hand. Bruce knew what Jack's weakness was. It was _him_.

He couldn't deny what was welling up inside of him. There were mixed senses of anger, guilt, regret, and duty- but the one he would try to deny was his confused desire. Wiley's face was still inside of him, pleading with him to open up and just give a different kind of situation a try. Now Wiley's face had materialized to haunt him. That face was sitting in his bedroom, scarred and manic.

Bruce bounded up the stairs, his heart rate pulsing and erupting from within him. It was his job to find the end of it. He had given in to Talia, Silver, and nearly Catwoman and Selina. Just because the new subject was male did not mean that he could ignore it. Bruce could drag it out as much as he wanted, but he could either kill the Joker or go through with it. His one rule he would never, ever break.

The door was a foot away from him, and as over stimulated as his brain was, his feet seemed to numbly force forward like a rusted machine. A cold crept up to his heels and passed just at his knees, threatening to freeze him in place until the day would pass to night. He continued onward and thrust open the door.

_THOOM!_

Jack jumped a little when the door flew open. "More spankings, Pops?" he asked with a cheeky smile. He couldn't have expected the following moment, regardless of his own genius. Surprise. That was a useful element.

The belt of the robe fell to the floor, curling up on itself. The silken robe slid onto the cream carpet without a sound, no one's eyes looking to even watch it fall. The air conditioning caressed Jack's bare body. He looked like a work of art with his hair and scars, and his body, though not cut, was fit. Everything was so smooth- even the scratch-like marks that curved around his stomach and forearms, a shade darker than his lightly tan skin. He became a sort of painting within the stillness, mouth as stiff and firm as his cock. Bruce's eyes traced along the contours of his pale hips and across his milky thighs, suddenly lost in his own mission.

Jack came alive, not longer a simple picture to be studied and analyzed unlike any other piece of evidence that Bruce had examined. "Come to play instead? I was wondering when you'd get your head in the game. Not everyone can-"

_CRASH!_

Bruce had clamped a strong fist over Jack's mouth, slamming his mossy head into tall wall of glass. The reflection crumbled and disappeared within the criminal's thick, red blood. Jack's hand pulled along his pelvis, ripping out a large piece of the mirror.

Buttons splashed to the floor, and Bruce's shirt shot out towards the ground. Jack stared deeply into the other man's eyes, pulling the bloodied piece of glass to his mouth and licking it with lust. The red swirled onto his taste buds, making them come alive in the darkened room. It tasted like metal. Warm, liquid metal.

Bruce blocked out all thoughts about the monster in front of him. His objective was for this to be done, but… that face. Wiley stared straight back at him with a piece of glass in his mouth, nude. The body structure was the same. So much… the same.

A splitting headache erupted from the back of Jack's head as Bruce slammed it against the wall once again. A pair of black slacks fell with the belt still around the waist. Bruce shoved down his briefs without another moment of hesitation.

Jack was greeted, brought back from his own wandering mind, by two, strong arms gripping his shoulders and shoving him mercilessly on top of an attached dresser. There was a strange drive in the eyes behind the man before him. Jack didn't care. He smirked, spreading his legs and lifting them up above his soft bottom.

Bruce took a deep breath. He was doing this. There as no question. It was necessary. At least that is what he would tell himself, but Jack could read every sentence and thought through his vulnerable eyes. Vulnerable. It was so rare to see in the Batman, but every time he struck a nerve, it was like the man came alive from that merciless, crime-fighting machine. But what a joy that machine was. For Jack, it was fun to discover every facet of this man. At least now he would know how good he was in bed. Interesting. He was learning new things every day!

His eyes fell down. "My, Brucie, quite the packa-"

Jack's head slammed back into the mirror's back board. He released a light-hearted chuckle from between his lips. Was that a smile? He could have sworn, for a brief second, that his kinky captor had shown a little glee. Then again, it could have been the violence involved that lit his face up like fireworks.

The heat enveloped his body as Bruce's body bore into his and they became one. The feeling pulsing in and out of him was so delightful; the pain involved was begging for it to never end. Every in and out shot a string of hot sensations up his spine. No, it wouldn't end. It would go on. Like a whirlwind, he came upon Bruce in a fight for dominance. Bruce lost his footing, and the two crashed down onto the bed. Within the struggle, a piece of glass in Jack's side skid along his and cut a long stroke across his torso, like the madman's own signature upon his work.

Bruce wrapped his callused fingers onto either of Jack's bottom cheeks, refusing to let him escape from the hold. Jack smirked, and in one swift maneuver, curved his head under Bruce's arms and pulled Bruce out of him, disappearing under the sheets. He wanted to play games. This came as no surprise.

Bruce ripped the comforter up and revealed the smaller man whom was worming himself down under the gold sheets. The leading man fled underneath with swiftness, and the other wistfully pushed himself inside with a surprise. Jack pushed harder, his body erupting in quakes at the motion. Fire and water crashed against each other, sweat turning to beads on their rigid bodies. The room span in a circular motion, limbs flying and occasionally whacking each other across the face.

Had he locked the door? Would Alfred storm in and discover what Jack _really_ wanted? Every time Jack clutched his back, digging his nails (or what was left of them) into Bruce's back with the fight and desire, he forgot about his worries or his cares. He was brought back to the fight with even greater fervor and focus. Whether or not it was what he wanted, Jack captured his attention… maybe more than he should have.

Bruce shook under Jack's forceful power, but he refused to succumb. He gripped Jack's smooth hips, pulling him out and wincing as the cock pulled out in a slick motion. The soothing feel of control swarmed over him when he regained dominance and pushed himself inside.

Jack was the first to make a sound other than his own laughter (who Bruce found himself punching at times because of the irritating cackle). A pleasurable but agonizing moan was released as if he had been clenching it inside from the start. The sound alarmed Bruce and ignited something within him. The reasoning was lost. He would stay in the fight.

Jack's brown eyes shut for a moment, but when they reopened, it was like dawn breaking past the morning clouds with his own touch of blood red chaos. His strong jaw set firmly but slowly released and vulnerably slipped open. For once, he wasn't smiling. Bruce saw the moment of weakness and harnessed it.

Their chiseled faces crashed into each other, drawn like magnets into a rough kiss. Jack reached down in a flurry of emotions, trying to reach his precious Bat's neck. Bruce avoided it, but Jack was persistent and pulled his swollen, sticky lips away. Bruce felt himself stiffen further when the man he had hated bit into his shoulder, gliding his tongue up onto the nape of his neck where he took another bite. Slower this time, but the bite deepened, leaving a gash smeared in fresh blood. The psychotic man lapped up some of the blood, the liquid staining his chapped lips.

The heat on their foreheads fell like rain onto the pillows when Bruce burst, and Jack let out another maniacal cackle that Bruce decided deserved him another punch. This one, however, was softer. As much as he could feel the passion growing in him to beat his face in, Bruce couldn't push the power through his fist in order to destroy the prick's already tainted face. Instead, the motion became something more of an awkward nudge. Jack snickered.

His mouth opened once more, ready to make some snarky comment, but Bruce relaxed, settling his mouth onto the other man's in a softer kiss, declaring and claiming his win.

… … …

… … …

… … …

It was no surprise to the rich playboy to find, early in the morning, that the window was open, but Jack was no longer occupying any of the wet, sticky, blood-stained mess around him. In order to avoid suspicion, he would have to wash the bed himself.

The morning light crashed like an unwelcome wave over his eyelids. Although his energy was drained, part of him felt fulfilled with his success at keeping the situation under control. The rotten feeling that ate at his core could not be ignored regardless. The act had been dirty, even if it did have purpose. The dirtiest part had probably been the fact that he had found himself enjoying it, but his mind screamed at that thought to be quiet and instead stay focused at the task at hand.

One arm. Then another. Wayne pulled himself out of his own bed in aching pain. He had cuts all along the front of him which had begun to scab, and he had never taken part in an act of anal sex before. The after feeling, especially with no lubricant or aid, felt like somebody had kicked up his ass hard enough for him to feel it for days. Sex with Jack had to be much different than anything that would normally be considered as a appropriate for a more typical homosexual man, of course. Bruce wouldn't label Jack as that yet. He still had him pegged as autosexual. He was too in love with himself.

Droplets were racing each other down his solid muscles. The shower he took was cold. He didn't want to stare any farther down the dark halls of the act that he had committed. He'd rather leave himself with nothing to arouse him and simply focus. There were bigger plans going on behind the scenes. Now that the Joker was gone, work would have to start immediately- as soon as the night sky took its rightful throne over head. Roman was up to something big. The recent acts on the streets had been small and too few. He knew that it wasn't just his image as the Batman that had scared them off. Something else was taking place. He just had to put his finger on what. There was a strong possibility that Black Mask was either annihilating the competition or just completing a hostile takeover of the underground crime rings. If he knew Roman well enough, it was the latter. He ignored the stinging he felt when the soap dripped over the scratches and remained concentrated on more important matters.

Getting dressed was a more awkward task than usual with that irritating feeling in his lower half hindering his movements. He remained persistent and placed business attire on his sore body. Every piece of him still felt fiery, crying out for unfinished business. Bruce silenced it. He had a meeting with Lucius. Sure, the board would be there and they would discuss Wayne Enterprises, but there were other things at hand that Lucius needed to be informed of. Matters that regarded the Joker and Black Mask.

"Breakfast is ready, sir," Alfred stated in a calm voice as he watched his eager friend trail down the stairs with an odd look on his face.

Bruce took note of the place settings for two. "Jack won't be with us any more," he put coldly.

"Pardon?" was all Alfred could manage.

Bruce looked forward, not daring to make eye contact, for in his soul, the act would haunt him until his dying day, and being transparent before someone who would never suspect him of such was not what he needed in present circumstances.

"… _He got what he wanted._"

'_Note to self:'_

Always business with you, Batsy. Even during play. Sometimes laughter's the best medicine, and even if I have a gun to your head while you do it, I'll make you laugh…

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………**..**

_CURSE YOU, BRUCE! IT'S ALWAYS BUSINESS WITH YOU! Raah… I've never written a sexual scene in my life. Was it all right? Hahaha… It's all about the curiosity that their love/hate relationship creates between them. Tell me how you felt about this chapter. Was there anything you found hard to get past? I hope it was okay. You'll get more of the Joker's point of view/recalling on/of the events next chapter. Yes! Alfred's accent IS infectious… It makes me want to talk all British-like. It's amazing. Anyways, possible Watchmen story in consideration._


	19. AN: No Longer Writing This Story

Dear Readers,

I regret to inform you that I can no longer continue this story. Some insane changes have occurred in my life over the past few weeks, and always having things incomplete in the back of my mind would not be helpful for where I am at currently.

Please don't take offense to this, and I'm very sorry that I can not continue. If you wish, you may contact me, and I can summarize the rest of the story for you. Thanks so much to everyone who has been faithfully reading my work, and I hope you know just how hard this decision was for me.

Love,

periwinkleXprecision


	20. Corrupted Love Summary

_**Story Summary**_

_I decided that it would be best if I went ahead and posted a summary of how the rest of the story would have gone so that you all can rest easy, haha. Once again, I'm really sorry that I do not have the opportunity to complete this. Let me know how you feel about this story and where I was going to take it verses where you would have liked to see it go. All of your views and/or frustrations are welcome. _

**+O+O+O+**

In a previous chapter, the Joker was apprehended by Batman (AKA Bruce Wayne), and all of his clown thugs had been taken out. All but one, actually. Harley Quinn had escaped from the scene unnoticed, just as her "puddin'" had ordered her to. Bruce returns to the room to find the Joker gone, just as he had suspected. He had wanted to be captured all along- to prove to Bruce that he wasn't at righteous as he thought. Of course, work and play are always one in the same for Joker. Bruce prepares himself for the chase.

Harley and the Joker are driving down the spine of Gotham, scooting around every shady alley imaginable in a red-hot automobile stolen from some poor schmuck. The conversation begins to take an awkward turn as Harley expresses her doubts.

"_Sometimes I think you like him better than me…"_

Late at night, Bruce follows the messy trail to a beautiful manor- just outside of Gotham City's limits. It's his own manor, near completion after the previous fire. The tire tracks further out are neater and less obvious, slowly fading out into invisibility. The Joker had led him here.

Batman enters the scene quietly from a window and investigates. A man with a large gun is watching the upstairs. He can hear strange noises occurring from the basement. He delves further down to find Black Mask, otherwise known as Roman, standing over a blueprint along with some masked men. The masked men are alerted of his presence and a battle ensues. Roman and Batman are unaware of an extra presence looming just overhead. Acid sprays onto Black Mask's face, burning his thick, coal black mask onto his face. Much skin is burned away, and even some bone is exposed, and his face has been scarred black. Batman jerks around to find the silhouette of Talia Al Ghul escaping through an open window. He chases after her.

I had decided to use acid on Roman's face rather than have it be a fire because Two Face was supposed to be created by an acid splash to the face, but he instead caught on fire. That was what was supposed to happen to Black Mask. I decided to switch their roles and have Black Mask get struck with acid.

The chase moves on, but he is caught off guard by Catwoman. Bruce grows frustrated by the interruptions. She claims to have insight on where the Joker is headed. Batman reciprocates by feeding her information on recent occurrences, but he still keeps very much to himself. She lets him know that Black Mask is probably nothing more than a distraction for something bigger going on with the Joker.

The Joker is reclining in a large beach chair, spewing forth melodic triumphs as Harley does the dirty work, hauling strange bags and TNT into the sewers. A few scenes entail his first bank robbery and the frustration that grows as he is unable to drag any attention out of the Batman. He decides that he needs to strike a little closer to the belt. Batman wants the mob. Why not a mob bank? That would get their attention. Their attention meant Batsy's attention.

Harley interrupts his musings, growling about Bruce's pathetic state from his loss of his parents. The Joker cuts in, seemingly angry but with a grin on his face, about how some people are just more useful and talented than others. Harley is hurt by the subtle jab but ignores it and proposes a back rub. The Joker shrugs as she provides the comfort.

Bruce runs into Selina Kyle as his driver heads through the streets. She's dashing across the street and almost causes a collision. She looks a bit frayed, although very beautiful, and he invites her in for a ride. The two get closer, and the Joker forces Harley to do a little spy work on the two of them. Harley is apprehensive and doesn't see the point but instead goes about it with a perky grin and a waitress uniform. She serves the oblivious two at a day out and witnesses a kiss. She thinks nothing of it and returns to her lover with the seemingly boring news. The Joker is strangely upset and takes it out on Harley. He begins to plan a destruction of the notorious "Catwoman."

Catwoman has a run-in with Roman after stealing some of his equipment. She begins to regret going it alone, but she denies herself and keeps up the chase. It comes to an end at some cliffs near open water. She's at a dead end. Black Mask approaches, but she pulls one of the stolen guns on him, threatening to kill him. Roman stands there, waiting for her to pull the trigger, but spoken words from Batman defeat her desire.

"_No clown or killer should have their lives taken away by us. We need to remind ourselves of what divides us."_

She lowers the gun but is caught off-guard when Roman pulls a gun on her and shoots her into the water below. He looks down below and sees nothing but crashing waves. What's done is done, and Catwoman is no more.

Selina misses a date with Bruce, and he grows a little worried. Alfred reassures him that she's a busy woman with a lot on her mind. Joker also becomes interested in her disappearing act and does his own digging. He rants to Harley about his frustration as she comically sits down, wearing her old glasses, writing away his stresses. He vents that Black Mask stole his kill.

"_Take my kill, I'll take your life."_

The story eventually comes to a place where Harley and her Mistah J set off explosions all across Gotham, creating an earthquake-like effect throughout the city. Gotham is declared a "No Man's Land" and is closed off from the rest of the world. No one is allowed in, and with the recent outbreak of criminals and psychopaths, no one is allowed out either.

The city is a broken madhouse, open to the Joker's laughter and joy. Harley is soon caught by the authorities, and she's distraught when she learns that her darling refuses to break her out. She's stuck alone in a cell in Arkham, angry and ranting about how she's going to make it on her own. She catches the attention of a woman in a cell next to her who has also seen hard times, expressing how no one has any respect for botany and the other life forms around them. Harley is confused but agrees regardless. The woman steps out of a shadowy corner and smiles weakly, pressing her hand up to a separating glass.

"_The name's Pam. Pamela Isley."_

Chaos is running amuck in Gotham, and Batman is having an impossible time keeping up. Talia does what she can, but she's obviously up to something. A conversation between her and Bruce later reveals that her father is dead, but he had promised Bruce to her. She had tried to keep running his businesses without him, but she eventually abandoned his work once she learned how dirty he had gotten his hands in his insanity. Batman expresses that he can not be with her, and Talia frowns, stating that they could only see what the future brings.

Groups and mobs rise up against each other, leaving no safe place for adults and children alike. Batman learns that this is a part of Black Mask's plan. He is creating an uprising in Gotham. The Joker refuses to allow Roman to become the king of a city that doesn't belong to him, and he eventually comes to Batman, agreeing to help him out. Batman cuffs the crazy man, refusing to allow him to speak another word.

The investigation takes them further out into the city, and they eventually learn of Black Mask's hide out after plenty of "bonding" moments and the Joker reminiscing about their hardcore sex. He tries to pull things out of Bruce, taunting him and telling him that he must've enjoyed it as much as he made it look. Batman growls and grows furious with him. Every once in a while, Bruce sees faint glimpses of "Jack" and finds himself in awe of the random moments of insight between the madness.

They wind up making love once again, but this time it's in the Batmobile. The Joker is strangely vulnerable, and Bruce can see that he's trying to put off his manic composure once again. The moment is strangely tender, but Bruce avoids physical contact afterwards. He's obviously shook up about it.

The two can't seem to find a way in the secured building, but a woman locates them, coming to them to offer her help. Silver St. Cloud arrives, despairing that it's her company's building and that she can offer him a way in through an underground passage way that she claims her company used for emergencies. Bruce finds it odd but trusts her enough to gain entrance. She helps them in. Batman realizes that Talia has been following them, and she saves them from a rear attack.

"_You guys go on. I'll distract them."_

She takes on guard upon guard all by herself. Joker escapes during the distraction. Batman wastes no time in busting through to Black Mask's "office." Roman turns around with his destroyed face, eerily talking with rough pronunciations because of his lack of lips. He expresses his hatred of Bruce and that he was sure to make the entire city fall because of its failing life. He shows the chaos outside, chattering on to Bruce about how weak and fragile the city is.

Bruce disappears into the shadows during the monologue, attacking Roman from behind. Black Mask stops the blow, and the two engage in a battle. Roman beats Batman to the ground after using cheap tactics and tricks he had hidden throughout the room. As he pulls a gun on Bruce, the door creaks open, and a dagger comes flying, stabbing the ash-faced man in the side. Black Mask falls to his knees, realizing the Joker is standing there with a heinous grin.

The Joker explains his vendetta against him after Roman questions why in the world he would do such a thing after their previous camaraderie.

"_Why, of course, Ash Face. No matter how many kitties I kill, I can never make up for the one you took from me."_

Black Mask reaches over and grabs the gun during the speech, pointing it at the Joker. The Joker smirks, so Black Mask realizes what might actually get him back. Roman points at the Bat lying on the ground and shoots him straight in the stomach. The Joker grits his teeth as Roman turns the gun back on him.

"_I've got you…"_

A sly voice creeps in with anger.

"_No… I've got YOU."_

He turns and sees Catwoman standing in the doorway with a piece from the top of her mask cut off. Black curls are flowing out from the top. Her icy blue eyes glare at him as she fires round upon round into Roman. The crime boss falls to the ground in his own puddle of blood. Catwoman disappears, gasping with a minor limp. Bruce and Jack are left alone in the midst of their own silence…

**+O+O+O+**

_Of course I can't involve every detail, but there's the basic summary of the story. Now I'd like to get into the three endings. The first two here are alternate endings, and the last one is what really happened. The second is what I feel suits the couple the best, but due to its nature, I chose the final ending as the real one. Enjoy!_

**What Could Have Happened (Romeo and Juliet)**

Song: "Deteriorate" by Demon Hunter/"Miserable Visu" by Anberlin

This ending opens with a ceremony in the middle of Gotham Square. There's a newly revealed statue standing amidst the people, and an empty podium is standing before them. An old, snowy-haired man is approaching the stand with a grim expression. He carries himself strongly, regardless of the fact that he's broken inside. The old man opens the speech amongst the silent people watching him with tearful eyes.

"_Master Bruce once told me that life, in all forms, was meant to be cherished…"_

It cuts back to the scene of Bruce lying on the office floor, bleeding to death from the gunshot that Roman had fired upon him. The Joker is muttering something bitterly and he tries to open up all of the pieces of the suit. The bullet broke through the Kevlar because it was at such close range. The bullet got in deep, and things are looking bleak.

The Joker and Batman have a short talk about the chain of events that they had both started, and the Joker makes a haughty comment about how life is like a box of chocolates- eventually you eat all of them, and there's no more chocolate. The end.

Bruce rolls his eyes and explains how it's more than that. Jack takes a piece of cloth and wipes the makeup off, taking a batarang out of the utility belt and cutting his wrists with an eerily soft smile. He lays his head leisurely down on Bruce's stomach and lets him know that he loves him, in a very strange way. Bruce smiles weakly, breathing out-

"_I know."_

The Joker chuckles and laughs until his death. A police force rushes in to find them both lying dead on the floor. An officer cuts Batman's mask off and finds Bruce Wayne. His true identity is revealed. It cuts back to the funeral.

Alfred finished the speech strongly, but only a few find the strength to clap. A boy by the name of Dick Grayson sifts through the crowd, leaving the group all by himself. He convinces himself that someone needs to take up the mantle and commands such of himself. The foggy day washes over his figure as he disappears.

The End.

**What Should Have Happened (The Hero and the Villain)**

Song: "Be Quiet" by Meriwether

Bruce is alone in his completed manor, staring out the window with a blank expression. Rain hits the window rhythmatically, and not even Alfred's words seem to distract him since the morning is looking bleak, but he can't seem to bring himself to cry or even show a bit of remorse. Too many lives had been taken, and he could never love a monster.

His Kevlar had protected him, but Roman had gotten his shot in, and the Joker was down on the ground with a cruel grin. Bruce ran over to him, taking him in his arms, and staring him down intensely to listen to what the madman might say. The Joker snickers, shaking his head with a hint of sadness.

"_No, Batsy. You never loved me. You love the thrill. You can't deny yourself it. I think you and I both know that right about now, you'd prefer chasing that cat of yours."_

The Joker dies in his arms, and Batman leaves him there, escaping through a window to do what needs to be done in order to clean up the city in its chaotic state.

The scene arrives back at Bruce in his home. He doesn't feel a thing. With an inward sigh, the billionaire entrepreneur picks up a phone and gives Selina Kyle a phone call. For a moment, he can rest easy.

The end.

**What Really Happened (Sleeping Beauty)**

Song: "Wake Up" by Coheed and Cambria

(Quick Note: This is the best Batman/Joker song. Seriously. Listen to it. It will BLOW YO MIND.)

Batman is wounded by the bullet, and the wind is knocked out of him. Black Mask's bullet had managed to cut into his Kevlar, but it wouldn't kill him. The bullet hadn't made it deep enough. The Joker hops over to his side and cradles his head with a sadistic grin. For a moment, there was one less villain in the world. Bruce mumbles out a few, exasperated words-

"_When this is over, we'll go back to the chase. Because I'll never give in, and you'll never change your ways. Neither of us can compromise. Things will always be just like this."_

He falls into a deep sleep, energy sucked out of him and too badly wounded to pull himself out of it. The Joker softly whispers into the flying rodent's ears that he wouldn't have it any other way.

Joker drags Bruce out onto the city streets, into a safe and empty alley. The dark clouds are clearing, and some golden light is shining through to signify the coming of daylight. The Joker sets Batman onto his lap as he leans against the trash can, fantasizing about the chaos he could commit, and how Batman would always be gladly chasing behind him.

He waits for the caped crusader to wake up, but even he can't deny that even just that one second of peace is something likable. Still- no helping impatience. He leans down to kiss the Batman, getting a zap to the lips after brushing up against his collar. The Joker jolts away in laughter.

The end.


End file.
